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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 6, Number 3, September 2012


Carol Pearce-Worthington
New York City, New York, USA

This Papillon

crooked as I am and full of fear and age my dark shape bent my singing mocked yet still a blur of sky and water urges me to come along and with the salt strewn breeze fly off to where all boats go where waves go where the sea plunges deep—this strangeness I have earned with time with storm with wind constrains my roots and flung back upon myself I call to be set loose as the speck of a bird that rides high as that ship barely seen on the horizon carrying mysteries of change of hope this Papillon awaits transfiguration. . .

hitchhiker . . .
the moon takes
no passengers



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