Late Sun

Dying wasps
make drunken passes at my hair.

They are drawn to glass,
as air and cannot tell.

Up on the hill,
a garrulous crow

is testing the depth of a valley
in winter.

Jets trail
simple departure

There are giants among us.
Tall shadows flare.

- Lavinia Greenlaw

Comments

Anonymous said…
nice. where did you find this?
New Yorker.

And thank you.
Anonymous said…
Find more on Lavinia Greenlaw on www.readme.cc