The Cave of the Crow

The cave of the crow
Is an eerie place

There is nowhere to sit
The hungry lynx in
The back
Is mildly terrified

When the sound of the crow
Reverberates
(he has no music)

The walls get stronger
Light does not linger
On the face

The lynx laughs
There will be no food
But the languishing
Might be all he needs

Temper

I lost my temper.

I have not found him.

I slip through my day.

I don’t make a dent.

It’s not all about me, is it?

With less weight,
Those who lose their
Tempers
Travel faster.

At the end of a cough
I found myself on the
Rough-hewn coast
In the home
I wanted.