Today's poem is by Jeremy Hooker
Cut of farm roofs, black against sunset,
owl hoot sounding the depth of woods:
the present is a blade you could try with your thumb.
It is a haunting thought that there are no ghosts,
only this black and shining edge.
Copyright © 2002 Jeremy Hooker All rights reserved
Enitharmon Press / Dufour Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved