Poetry - Green hills by Kay Ryan

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￭ (half)
￭ Green roots. Trampling down death by death
￭ The only thing
￭ In our image and our likeness
￭ passage. if today
￭ Us
￭ Philosophia Perennis
￭ Active rest with hand on the knife
￭ Metaphysical guilt
￭ a theory of apocalypse
￭ s m i l e
￭ Epistle of a millennial
￭ so, listen...
￭ 3
￭ (in the doorway)
￭ My white horse dressed in butterflies

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Green hills
poetry [ ]

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by Kay Ryan [Kay_Ryan ]

2010-12-10 | | Submited by Veronica Văleanu

Their green flanks
and swells are not
flesh in any sense
matching ours,
we tell ourselves.
Nor their green
breast nor their
green shoulder nor
the languor of their
rolling over.

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