Sunday, April 6, 2014

Cross my heart


Sack of day-old doughnuts, fifty cents.

Barnyard gnawing vineyard brush.

Boys smoke whatever’s at hand.

Found butts. Dead leaves. Horse shit.

Cross that desert, cross my heart.

And that’s the end of it.

Except your ghost, and this loneliness.




6 comments:

Jan said...

This is very touching, in a strange kind of way, William...I love it~

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Jan. When it comes right down to it, I think everything is.

Jonathan Chant said...

The details gather towards the powerful last line. A great companion for the previous poem.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Jonathan. They do seem to have come from the same place....

Joseph Hutchison said...

Another lovely, resonant poem, William. You're a wonder....

William Michaelian said...

Well, Joe, I don’t know about that, but I’m glad you like the poem, and I thank you for saying so.