Robert Bogan Austin, Texas
THE GIFT
Last night
I exhumed from dreamt soils
my Yorick, a
tattered rabbit,
loam gray flannel and straw mould
staring frozen from the
dreamt grave.
As a child I embraced him,
consumed him piece by piece--
ear, lip, nose and
bonebutton eye--
letting thread
and years and paper shreds
bleed through a tear
in his slow stitched groin.
I grew with fiction
stroked my grief and breathed
his dust into memory.
Last night
he lay relinquished--
that rag
that hay.
robert bogan@sbcglobal.net © 2004 Robert Bogan