Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2020
The past is always
my witness -
the beach-eating;
the stumbles of love;
the small birds chopping
their wings through
the hysterical greenness
of her rain yard;
the late night snow walk
to her house on Otis,
full of first mistakes;
the blinding braid of ink;
the endless column of
the unsaid.
Evan Stephens
Written by
Evan Stephens  44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems