The Moon And The Burning Landship Poem by Leslie Philibert
The Moon And The Burning Landship
North.
The moon cold as an olive.
Hard as a skinned thrush.
The Northmen.
Bronzed and teeth-rooted.
Each thought cuts the snow.
The Ship.
Now black with earth
Salt and tide.
Look through the first sparks;
The night cleaved with smoke.
A broken moon the sea.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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5/4/2024 4:45:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
An interesting poem. Enjoyed reading.