Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2015  v14n1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Brief Song of the Almost-Lost

Less to say in winter,

to be sure. Less to consider and less
appears beneath the debris that still

somehow collects. We connect,
briefly. We fan out like the tail

of a cornered animal, though not
so cornered as it thinks. The things

said in context; trail left behind. I’ve
decided to follow my mother’s advice:

guilt. Nothing else. Nothing more
to be transcribed as the bottle

bleeds out. Nothing more to say
about the past. Once, I studied

all the long forgotten kings; gathered
what few fragments remained

of their tongue: brief song of the almost-
lost; mothers putting to rest their sons.  end  

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