The Glass Table

 
 
Bent in tension,
I called the hawk
above my shoulder
a shadow double,
then you stared
at the worst face
we grew to recognize
from the young.
I left the feathers
in the candle
on the glass table
like a burst sky
clear as the mind
and as sorrowful,
the end of my sleeve
blackened in ash. 
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s