Hospice Poem by Leo Yankevich

Hospice



Dawn of pewter, nary a cloud.
A city dove alights the cypress,
the forsythia touches the moon.

Of all the signs of the zodiac
cancer rises over her brow,
wrinkled for thirty-seven years.

Then the constellation fades,
the sun burns the weeds on the lawn
until suddenly they are green.

Friday, August 28, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: cancer
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Leo Yankevich

Leo Yankevich

Farrell, Pennsylvania
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