Will Vigar

a writer of sorts

Losna (Winter)

1459165_10101210310446939_1104869383_nFrom beside a sun-

paled bridge – enamel

petals falling, brickle

and bleached – I watch

the mounting satellite –

 

wan-creeping

above bitter horizon –

over looking-glass

spatters of rheumy

phosphorescence.

 

Numb and buoyant

in brittle air

I place a foot on

the echo-sheen lake

and walk to meet

 

the moon.

 

 

 

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