Who will make Your long bed, Smooth your grass quilt,…
I waved my hand over the patch, but made no shadow in the place. —Maurice Manning
The chemo clouds and veils thought,
a stream hits a rock dam, splashes, diffused,
lost but to weeds and mud. A reader cannot read,
follow the course of thought through a chapter,
the flow of an essay, the journey of an article.
The poem saves, its brevity runs thought
Subscribe to read the full text.