Monday, April 14, 2014



This is dark work, what we do
it stains
what it touches.

Spine-sung, bone-knotted,
we hold our tools
wet with our longing,
blood and bile.

Watchers from the windows
have no mind for it,
cover their ears
so as not to hear.

I don't blame them.
Even as I stand on this far side
I can scarcely see.
But I see,
I see.

Photographer Sally Mann
Poem completed 2/2014


Rot said...

i really REALLY love this poem.

Mark Faucett said...

...what Rot said

P.E. Cor said...

I really enjoy your poetry. Keep it coming!

Jay's Shadow said...

Great poem. I can picture it all as I was reading it.

Willow Cove said...