august 21 (an old poem)

you write
that you are ill
feverish

in some narrow
foreign bed
tangled

in dim
damp sheets
sun steaming

through a dingy
window
and I hope

that you are not
entangled so
alone

what cannot
be held must be
freely given

   

 

Comments

[Anne]

lovely... if only i could weave emotions into words half as well.