M O R E
The tree farm's endless
rows of pines — my road to
his nursing home
There it was —
the old man's face
at a newsstand in Florence
I don't know
who's cutting our names
into the headstone
Bird tracks
in snow —
Dear Francis
Eyes shut tight —
there's
the old place
Finally graceful —
driftwood on
an iced-in shore
A small bird's song
the furnace
switches on
———————————
from Adveniat
John Martone
Red Moon Press
2018
