We all fall down. The ground grows smaller, As I pass the Earth, Becoming her daughter. Funny to stand today, Eclipsing the sun. My books marked still, On page one.
Tag: Women’s poetry
Regret knitted into loose conversation wraps me,
Dragged by a fisherman’s net, casually tossed over the lee.
Splayed, filleted, pocketed and oversteeped:
‘The Robber of Roses Steals Only from Sleep.’