Skip to content
dilettante ink

dilettante ink

words & pictures

  • Home
  • Commentary
  • Fables
  • Poems
  • Projects
  • Picfair Gallery
  • Sideshows
  • Life Support
  • Contact

Cleat

I cleat the soil

A soft black earth

Strewn with flecks

The frozen skin of mica

Long since gone to dust

Leave a mark like a cross

A promised, graven treasure

We span a gentling curve

The distant water blinding 

There is a stone like a ship

Defiantly sinking

I think

No one I know is buried here

Share this:

  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
Published October 16, 2021By C S Hughes
Categorized as Poems Tagged Grave, time

Post navigation

Previous post

Sylvia’s Washing Line

Next post

The Anachronistic Physician

Recent Posts

  • By The Shore With Ink & Oranges
  • The War At Easter
  • This poem is a war crime
  • Sleeping Under Bridges
  • Glory & Proviso

Recent Comments

    • Facebook
    • Twitter
    • Instagram
    • Email
    dilettante ink
    Proudly powered by WordPress.