IN a WORD are the little things
the meaning bigger than me.
Within a Soul is great soup
the tongue and her taste great.
Inside the nest unborn eggs
unpublic – slanted sight!
My unborn babies are largely great
inside only a single name:
a lifelong dying Soul as me –
Admirning time and her quaint space.
A poet? For me yes but you for
saving grace a possibility.
:: 02.14.2022 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 