Poems from ddiagne

  Sing the isle, that, veiled beckons gently neath the stagnant haze of June’s inferno   and loudly, like the sound waves beat upon the...
  It was a silent thing. Only the breeze spoke. Whatever lives below the ground moves in half time feeling around dark sleeping worlds...
  Woodpeckers scoured the tree, leaving wounds in straight lines. The tree lamented not out or in. Eternal numbness of the unmoving – this...
  Oh shepherd of three-odd billion years bring 3’oclock coffee for its paragon   For the light slants at an angle at this hour it is...