father, son – Martins Deep
somewhere, as you read this poem,
a wraith awaits
the miracle of water
in the wells of his parched eyes
as he plants a kiss
on his son’s brow
one reaches for the other;
sepia for olive
somewhere, as you read this poem,
a wraith awaits
the miracle of water
in the wells of his parched eyes
as he plants a kiss
on his son’s brow
one reaches for the other;
sepia for olive