Mary Trey

Mary Trey Poems

The Best Poem Of Mary Trey

Lament For A Dog's Mistress

Her home is mute.
Rooms depend on
sounds repeated
expected
when least expected
like the click of nails
on bare floor
intercepted
by the surface of rugs.

Her home is barren.
Rooms depend on
shapes filling space
in familiar places
there, here, behind,
before and alongside
where her hand
halliucinates
on yesterday's touch.

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