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Stripping the willow (Free verse) by ecargo

Powder and flare or the inky harness of the plough, we seek the unturned memory of dirt, of thunder, a sough of doubt. Wandering’s a skin. We wear motion, our descent completes the turn. Within the wood, a sickle burns in a hunter’s hand. Sighted along the long draw of alder, oak--so flies the blood burn of old sacrifice.

Dovina 19-Jan-07/9:04 AM
“Sighted along the long draw of alder, oak--so flies the blood burn of old sacrifice.” The long dash confused me.




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