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Late Junction

The Hermitage

a windy crag where the Fool fell or flew away

Marilyn Hacker

Another day out of my dwindling store, spent grieving for you. All morning I sat on the rocks and watched the sea slam on the shore complaining of a hurt it seems the land forgets. Perched in a house of twigs, I am an angry, lonely man, clutching a cat.

Need drove me to these heights. Above me, the sky still untouched, unreachable as ever. Flowers tangle the staircase rotting by the house. If I wrote, anger and desire in letters, it would get me no higher up than carpentering steps together.

Nails hold me together. Each cross I bear to the ladder bears my weight up from here.

© 2003-2020 Stephen Taylor
script began 4:53:09 array ( 'pg' => 'verse', 'dec' => '80s', 'tit' => 'the-hermitage', ) completed in 0.0135 secs