He dreamed of three blackbirds

perched on a catenary wire

like the ages of man, clear-

eyed, beaks slightly parted

in silent, knowing laughter.


Some memories are dark stains

that never fade, that sharpen

like shadows in white light,

dreambirds. He picks a rock,

hefts it in his mind, takes aim.




About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s