Outskirts

And it goes on
Walk to town
Old shoes, a neighbor
Calling from her porch
There’s a hawk in a tree
My ministers, the privacies
Talk to me
Autumn leaves on the wind
I give so you
Will give
Say the Christians
The overturned wheelbarrow
Is covered in lichen

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto