Like That


Like That

The morning mist retreats—
        symbol of despair—
and that symbol of
        life’s progression—
the river—carries on in light
        of the sun’s dawning,
while moss hangs from
        symbolic trees—sacrificial,
upright, evergreen—
        and a crescent moon hangs
low in the western sky:
        where symbols die.
Such symbols represent
        an admission that words
frequently do not suffice.
        Then, to convey a feeling,
we can only wave a hand at
        a passing carnal cloud
and say: “Like that.”



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