Disintegration by David Russell

David Russell

The bottom fell out
And all things gathered,
Reverted to their origins
In skips, on pavements,
Fell to casual hands.
But at the pit
Of all exhaustion,
The bottom of grip’s loss
Are seeds and roots
Of restoration
Which in throbbing cycles
Breathe out on pine and belt.
The bottom stood solid.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply