Night passes
On the length
Of a single breath
Like walking
Alongside the Arcola
With my father
On tables of clay
Lined with parted bowls
Where the heel
Was first pressed
Into the grey yoke
Before arching forward
Towards the nail
That has grown back
Unnoticed.
About Michael Marine:
Michael Marine is a freelance illustrator and writer living in Cleveland, Ohio. His poems have appeared in a number of Columbus based zines that no longer exist. He is currently working on a small collection of poetry and prose.
very real!
ReplyDeletevery visual!
makes me remember what i like about poetry...thanks!