Winter 2016 — THE POTOMAC



Two Poems

D.N. Simmers

Exits

     "The blood of my heart has not
     completely exited through my eyes."
          GHALIB

Small things. A penny. A copper for dead eyes.
The yes of no.

Hot sun on the coldest morning.

Frozen road crunching
as feet come by.

Silence. Sounds. Moving things that hide where
Shadows that want to be alone.

Being here. Then there. Feet clusters near
the beginning of all thoughts

flashes and sparks that words chase in mind.

While the sun collects a few hot seconds.
Leaves to cold for the rest of the day

and the coldest frozen hearts to the night.


Openings

Windows where cats sits
up there in the top window.

Cat sitting in the shadows.
Not moving like a stuffed thing.

While birds collect the last of seeds.
Below

Only the tail of the cat gives away life
while the eyes

eyes larger than balloons
float with the flutter of the wings.

Lower and slower, crouching as if to
leave the window and fly

to the small feathers
and smaller beak.

Picking up the last meal of the day.

  
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