MM.11:123JOSEPH LISOWSKI
Still Life
Grief is an amputated hand,
blood fast running out,
each cell yearning for connection,
finding only empty air.
Then a numbing.
Edges curl back
first blue, then grey.
Then black. It becomes
a lifeless thing
that hardens
and in slow measure
becomes ash.
Poem, © 2000, JOSEPH LISOWSKI
(all rights reserved; To copy or translate this poem, please contact the poet)
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