Make him go away!
This deep blue mourning
drags down the lids
of these frozen eyes.
Sweep it under – gone
like the geese of fall
no more to fly –
arrow formation.
Take my roses
for your own – steal them
leave the thorns be –
hind to sweat my blood.
Red river rushing
the stones and sand swept
away build else-
where – land to slumber.
1980s
Anne's mediocre poetry 