Tuesday, March 22, 2016

should I not suppose


snowflakes, cherry blossoms, a sudden flourish
that might be a crow . . .

should I not suppose you know,
all that comes must go

like verse . . .

and should I not suppose you know,
what I behold in morning robe before all else . . .

that love is . . . a window?



2 comments:

Jonathan Chant said...

Lovely. Especially the flourish of a possible crow.

William Michaelian said...

Yes, call me raven mad, but I am sure of what I thought I thought I saw. Thanks, Jonathan, for looking in.