Last Hill?
A small mound
with grave thoughts.
Gnarled sticks before
a pin oak drying out fast.
Dead reckoning. Curled leaves
flutter & fall a fathom,
six feet deep dropping
like grace from Samael’s wings.
Soon
a dark harbor for insects
wordlessly waiting.
3 thoughts on "Last Hill?"
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Such a dark and seductive music in this, Bernard. Your best yet this month I think.
Great work, sir. Dour, to say the least, but you were clearly going for that. The finality of death just drips from your syllables. Well crafted.
so well done, each word precise
six feet deep dropping
like grace from Samael’s wings
damn.