Tag Archives: AWP

spring: a short poem en route to AWP

new london, ct.

the sea looks like crumpled gray silk

kicked at carelessly by mother nature

tangled in sheets

one more round of tumult and then

we will have our spring

clapboard houses perched on bluffs

dusty rusty rock and sand

surrounded by history

rain spatters like

morse code on the windows

[sic]

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