Paintin ‘here and there’ by Bill Knott

Minor Poem

The only response
to a child’s grave is
to lie down before it and play dead


Going to sleep, I cross my hands on my chest.
They will place my hands like this.
It will look as though I am flying into myself.


If you are still alive when you read this,
close your eyes. I am
under their lids, growing black.

Much more on Bill Knott can be found on his art blog and his prose blog and his verse blog.