SPOT ON OUR LUNG
We sense
A stillborn dawn.
A furtive, lurking gray,
A sleight of dusk, eclipse, that follows
Us.
TITANIC'S LANTERNS
Upon
My rain-glazed panes
Wet lights from neighbors glow
Like lantern beams from shipwrecks down
Below.
AFH
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I deeply admire how these works obey the determinants of the cinquain form without seeming overdetermined and how both works address daily disasters in subtle and powerful ways.
v good
I am a big big fan of form driven work, the discipline of it. Spot On Our Lung is just wonderful. Fine fine poetry here.
exquisite
Lovely. Just beautiful.
Ditto to the above. I also like the contrast between the two -- light and its absence.
Haunting and damn potent.
Oh this is breathtaking.