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Son of the Right Hand

Son of the Right Hand

 

These are your eyes

Holding wheat fields and hazel disguises

Holding memories that fuse together like stones in the earth

Where reverend alibis are squandered

A legend sits at the end of the table

With a steak knife in his left hand

Waving you over

Close your eyes

Pray for the soil

And wonder what it will be like when he comes home

Wild Mushrooms

At the foot of the bed

I remember doorways

A relentless blowing wind

A Stone’s throw away

I’ve lived this life once before

 

© – Benjamin Phillip Frisch 2013

Image Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.