Black Postcards
Black Postcards I The calendar all booked up, the future unknown. The cable silently hums some folk song but lacks a country. Snow falls in the grey sea. Shadows fight out on the dock. II Halfway through my life, death turns up and takes your pertinent measurements. We forget the visit. Life goes on. But someone is sewing the suit in the silence. I hear my country in your voice From Romeo Oriogun:...