The Darts of August

as the archer, you point arrows, fulfilling some sacred oathelastic and flying, half-transcendental,seeking mending from thistledown, they bloom brighter than merciless skiesfinding the line in the sand while seashells bleachand the 150 year old banyan tree tells how to withdraw a sword from a backyard stone This poem is a Cento, made from the workContinue reading “The Darts of August”