The Sun in Poetry

The Sun in Poetry
Medusa I had come to the house, in a cave of trees, Facing a sheer sky. Everything moved,—a bell hung ready to strike, Sun and reflection wheeled by. When the bare eyes were before me And the hissing hair, Held up at a window, seen through a door. The stiff bald eyes, the serpents on the forehead Formed in the ... read more
Source: Parking SunsPublished on 2019-07-14By Bruce