"bluegray" poems
These three years are a bleached,
bitterly bluegray frozen, tundra-
full of shallow graves,
where I have buried my companions,
dreams,
and thin ice,
traveled with careful steps,
cherished occasional fires,
to warm the permafrost around my heart,
I follow ghosts made of frost,
who seldom speak,
but never fail to remind me that I am lost.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC