2011-49

A late fall
evening. The moon
swings high, thinning
itself, while the seven
sisters dance in
the eastern
sky.

I weed, moonlight
turning dirty jeans
to silver, only pausing
when the four-clock
drops black seeds
into my hungry
hands.



Poetry by Minhocao
Read 657 times
Written on 2011-10-23 at 21:15

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countryfog
Perhaps I have said before that you have an Oriental perspective and simplicity that I unabashedly relate to and admire . . . never a wasted or unecessary word, just the essence of a moment and your place in it.
2011-10-24