If you sped winter up
in the city,
it would make the joint-cracking sound
of a pomegranate
torn open for its seeds.
The reedy sunlight
lies down along the sidewalk,
resting in constellations of salt.
The undressed air, for a season,
carries only itself.
About Me
- Raphael Luckom
- All text on this page may be reproduced anywhere, by anyone. I'd prefer attribution but don't require it. There is no need to ask if you may use it (that permission is given here) but I would love to see/hear about how you have used it.
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