One Thousand Unwritten Poems, Sleeping (a poem)

one thousand
unwritten poems sleep
in my bed—
your hands, your eyes,
the curve of
your shoulder …
the redbud is
blooming on the
hills, blossoming
the hollowed out
places; filling all
that is empty with
my breath is pale
in the night; I am
not good at being
hunted, and worse,
still, at the sport.
let’s hide here
a while.
I will not forget.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *