by Eric McHenry
Your book falls open to reveal
the poems I wish were mine
because those were the leaves I spread
widest on the scanner bed,
leaning on the heel
of my right hand until I heard the spine.
by Eric McHenry
Your book falls open to reveal
the poems I wish were mine
because those were the leaves I spread
widest on the scanner bed,
leaning on the heel
of my right hand until I heard the spine.