Poem: “Close Hands and Hear Me”, fr. notebooks, Jim Stallings

Close hands and hear me

Dust percolates in my veins

Snow melts by noon time

 

Was this enough poem

A scratch of wood ink paper

Or has my heart died?

 

New England winters

Demand fresh views of nature

But the blinds stay shut.

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Filed under poetry, prose poetry, works in progress

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