High Moor Poem by Leslie Philibert
High Moor
Rating: ★2.5
A plate of glass
shallows ankle deep,
brew of fern and dark water
where the dogs of rain
bark at nothing and ghosts
and the soft beds of trees bury
a family of rough cloth; coal-eaters
sheltering by dim-water fire,
the cold loam under
whips of sleet,
turn of mud and bone,
the rain soaking the night
as it does;
waiting for the first
strained light.
Friday, September 20, 2013
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4/26/2024 6:44:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
