Tonight the first fall rain washes away my sly distance.
I have decided to blame no one for my life.
This water falls like a great privacy.
Letters sink into the desk,
At Poetry Daily, Barbara Duffey has a poem about
—A clock driven by temperature variations
Despite not being wound since 1864,
the Beverly Clock tells time with a diaphragm
it keeps in an air-tight box; temperature changes
R. Nemo Hill has “8 Oars of Sleep” at Verse Daily:
One of cedar
pierced with iron,
notched, and grooved.