In a way,
The twilight sky
Reminds.
Cold, clear water
That feeds jungles of
Unseen mosses
And tiny spiders
Lurking in the depths.
Waiting.
Dust blows from the
Broken landscape,
Attacking the
Grey wood, the
Round river stones, the
Blurry figure of myself.
Waiting.
My hands feel life,
Potential in the fibers of
Old rope, as I pull...
pull...
Cracked lips sip from
The bucket...
A memory.
The twilight summer
Sky.
The Properties of Dust
1.
The Well
Moreh
Orienteering
Tides
The Properties of Dust
2.
Storm
Oncology
Upon the Ruin
Golgotha
Demolition
3.
Watching a Woman From Across the Room
Moonrise
First Snow
Antarctic Whispers
Lines
Bedtime Prayer
4.
The Red Car
Something Lost
Slough
Home
After the War
5.
Lair
Love Poems
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About the Creator
A. F. Litt
Photographer, writer, filmmaker, wandering lost soul...
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Where's the Glory?
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