Exile







Exile


Terrified. A cloud
sleeps alone in the sky.

I look at the bottom of my glass,
search for what is to transpire,

& what will not befall.
A tall, blond, green-eyed man

white as my cloud,
without an appointment

shows up, wakes me
from the dream.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Undertow Poetry Review, La Resaca First Issue

Lucecita Benitez - Cabalgata