“Love” Poems For Kathy Number Thirty-Five


How typical to keep the candle lit

till the last thin edge of the wick is burnt

and wheeling out of the wheeling sky, like chaotic birds,

our glances meet where all that was sweet

has the odour of rancid milk in a pail

while down in the darkness

heedless of us there wails, this wails,

through the edge of wind as cold as it is hard.

(But, sweetheart,

what became of your winning card?)

(from “”Love” Poems For Kathy / Green. Laced. Leaves”)

<a data-snax-placeholder="Source" class="snax-figure-source" href="" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener"></a>


What do you think?

Written by Jonathan Finch