Two Poems
-
Burrowing
- work is a way of hiding,
- burrowing busily busily like a hamster
- in a corner of its cage
- by now
- it’s better not to stop
- and look around at what you’ve made
- the grief will just send you
- burrowing, burrowing
-
The Giving of Names
- Just looking at you I
- hear myself start and you
- pour your brook through
- my favourite forest as
- I relax on the couch.
- At the sound of their names
- creatures step out of the
- air between us, mistreated
- days, blurred
- minutes shake themselves
- and stand up, pushing their
- noses under our hands
- wanting to play.
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