The Tao of Word 8
Standing on my lap, this eagle
looks at me with childlike searching.
Talons faintly stroke my face
as if observing each expressive
curvature or cranial
horizon. Eyes the depth of sunlight
break into my own. Vision
sharper than the edge of love
itself is soaring through my bones.
~Feugill Poirier 2008
WHY DID I WAKE? WHEN SHALL I SLEEP AGAIN?
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In the past few days, have noticed a great many people coming to this site
for my discussion of the “Days of Wine and Roses” poem by Ernest Dowson.
In it...
5 weeks ago
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