poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

I stand in quiet by the stream,
and wait for a key.
Either I was left behind or I
left something close;

a part of my life doesn't move.
There's a loss as if all
of history has been replayed
in the dramas lived here.

These horses don't know me,
and the epoch is new.
The fields are fields, the silver
air no truer than anything else.

Added: 7 Apr 2002 | Last Read: 26 May 2012 7:18 PM | Viewed: 4042 times

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