Only words

may bridge the stream and swamp —

Forsaken, forbearing, and fortuitous —
Eventually on transit seven or six
Near the land strewn with rocks.
Yearning for silver not sand, I’m
Alluding to all four letters

spelling them with my digits:
twelve fifteen twenty-two five
please
make it count

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This poem, I wrote a few years ago and have polished it a little recently, in my writing group.

If you have the time and energy to read more of these texts you find them in blog order on this website. Let me know what you associate with them, what you like, what you dislike, …