The Sorrow of a Brown Hat by Steven McCabe
Crumpled fading newsprint
As yesterday’s armies march
Into tomorrow
A future we predicted
We accepted sleep standing upright
Sleep never understood;
A chapter of blank pages: my darling, your wrist hanging
Over the bed
Your blood a confusion
Your heartbeat the black window
Swallowing my hands
Fingers forming a circle
Bottom of a fleet casting shadows across the seabed
I toss my hat overboard
from my book Hierarchy of Loss (2007) Ekstasis Editions
poemimage 