Monday, February 18, 2013


Silence descends
like black lace
over a face in mourning.

We cheat and scramble
to avoid mortality
throw dice against prevailing winds
defy all storm warnings
stand out in the gale
stubborn as a shore to sea
that digs and bitches
with the salt of demand -

all that has been cast up
must be returned.

1 comment:

Biba said...

You reminded me of a poem by my second favourite Canadian poet Margaret Atwood called Cell.