poems

by the rude bridge
what spiteful chance steals unawares
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
at dawn, he said
gloom
out of the window a sea of green trees
out of the deep and the dark
when the hours of day are numbered
as i lie roofed in, screened in
to be able to see every side of every question
melancholy, blue it was
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
in and of itself