Monday, March 23, 2015

Peggy's Brother Bill

for William Stafford
I cried when e.e. cummings died,
for loss of those eyes, the layers.

So I wondered about your poems’
undergrowth, your soft voice

covering the way you humored things

in case
stratum three's edge 
should razor through, tendencies
honed more than you knew. 

No comments: