Thursday, June 02, 2016

The Bamboo Hut, Spring 2016

even when
you came home early
with glass in your hair
I never saw this coming

though my feet
have never trod upon
that fair isle
they know it better
than these dirty streets

the times
that are the hardest
give way
to those that soften
this, I tell myself

when, at last
we turn to dust and bone
my hair
an eternal waterfall
will still flow over you

rose thorns
and twists of barbed wire
you trace
my body's deep scars
until I believe

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