The Reaping

a Saturday morning poem.

La Jeune Fille et la Mort (Death and the Maiden); Marianne Stokes; 1855-1927

I long for death in a way that I cannot describe

and so—we wait. 

until the words flow 
like blood soaks the ground

until 
until 
until

and so—we wait,
I will. 

updates:

I am behind, to no one’s surprise. We’ll get to it. Rest is a new concept, and new concepts take time. As always, thank you.