What would it be like to edit down
a poem into its brittle bones
down to the last ash
on a burning log
down to thin veins
on a frozen leaf
twigs on an icy night
shivering in the dark gray
solstice sky
down to breath
or the last
kiss
before sleep?
What would it be like to edit down
a poem into its brittle bones
down to the last ash
on a burning log
down to thin veins
on a frozen leaf
twigs on an icy night
shivering in the dark gray
solstice sky
down to breath
or the last
kiss
before sleep?