Sunday, March 13, 2011


"Last Light Belle Isle", oil, by Stephen Magsig
On Tuesday
he stopped struggling,
mostly because he saw
some split stovewood
that wasn’t struggling,
and clouds that went
where the wind went.
He set down
his precious life for good
and gave it a rest
under an undisturbed tree.
He felt his blood
being brought to wherever
it was needed,
and he didn’t oppose it.  

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