a singular wooden chair

            that held the midst of
every man        who chose to lament in
            rather than
            nigh sea   and   wave

reflection cease
mind behold
            man has a history of destroying what he once loved.

This is a reprint of work originally published in Fortnight Literary Press.

Asha Deaving

This entry was posted in Poetry, Reprint and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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