← v13n1, Spring 2014
Poetry · Volume 13, Number 1

Circle in the Grass

As a branch is bent, the years

I still have a lot of flashes

Once there was

A tree here, two-story oak

Now, just a circle in the grass

That will not regrow

A battle is indescribable, but once

Seen it haunts a man

Until the day of his death—

Here, there used to be

Footprints Clothing

Today, the hundredth

Anniversary

Delicate flakes—

Blossoms—

Here, there used to be

To sleep, I lay down

As a branch is bent, the years

With murderers