hey look, it's a new post, but it's an OLD poem

Hey, look, it's a new post, but an old poem. this poem is unpublished, unaccepted. in fact, it was solicited a couple of times and met with that ever proverbial rejection letter. Oh well, it holds a bit of special memories for me, so here it is for your observation ... don't know if the formatting on the original will come through on this blogger thing ... it sort of did, but not exactly. good enough though, i guess.


I RAN MY HANDS THROUGH HER HAIR

i ran my hands through her hair as if the wind
& when she reached to hold me

i was merely the moaning
through twisted pine

bones of the baleen upon the beach
tourists taking photographs

not even knowing
treasures stood upon igneous rock
just out of their focus

her long hair in the fog
as if an apparition