Death 1 Poem by Maxwell Bodenheim

Death 1



A fan of smoke in the long, green-white revery of the sky,
Slowly curls apart.
So shall we rise and widen out in the silence of air.
II
An old man runs down a little yellow road
To an out-flung, white thicket uncovered by morning.
So shall I swing to the white sharpness of death.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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Maxwell Bodenheim

Maxwell Bodenheim

Mississippi / United States
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