3 poems by William G. Davies Jr.


The streetlight
turned red
and when it did
the rain also,
as if it were blood
splashing in the street
forming rivulets
over the ruby asphalt
of thousands wounded,
denied entrance
to heaven.

In The Distance

The tall grasses
in mocha and rhubarb
bunch to catch
a lethargic sun
whose dictum
that December
be merciless
to spores
and silk pods.

New Evening

A bird’s wings
thump softly
by the wood
nested in the cold
a one piston engine
silent, in a poof
of white smoke.


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