Mercury
There was a hill we died on
Kinship moored on desert isles,
Fiefdoms of philosophy,
grief, in solitary trances,
hope to hopelessness
Wistful attempts to enlighten,
Rekindle.
Billows dwarfed by smokesignals
Plumes of trampled inroads,
Brooks beset with a peculiar burden,
To believe you.
© Scott Smith 2020
All rights reserved.
