Habit Poem by Hazel Hall

Habit



Last night when my work was done,
And my estranged hands
Were becoming mutually interested
In such forgotten things as pulses,
I looked out of a window
Into a glittering night sky.

And instantly
I began to feather-stitch a ring around the moon.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: work
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Hazel Hall

Hazel Hall

the United States
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