William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

For You, Love

You will forgive an old man, won’t you, his worn out poems, like shoes, by the door? Twenty-six degrees. An all-night freeze. The early morning sunlight upon the frosted fig leaves is causing them to fall in yellow clumps and bunches, their soft rattle audible through the partly open window. And the living, breathing orchard floor, inches deep with hands and stems, made in timely session by a single tree, solemn in fig-knowledge and fig-memory — I wait, and feel, with thee.

November 9, 2020

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Categories: New Poems & Pieces

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