Stripped





Through tepid air, neither summer nor fall,

the wind roams the pines without direction.

A white sky evokes no thought, no feeling.

On Michigan Street, tacit foreboding

passes between strangers at street corners.

Ships approach their dark altars warily.

Migrating birds form frayed, tentative Vs.

Tonight, fires will burn in increments

till white hot. Every bone will be picked clean,

the heart pared down to its innermost core.

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Copyright © 2016 Mark Maire All rights reserved

from Meridian

Codhill Press

Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission