at the parents’ group
I listen
to others’ troubles
as if I’ve entered a forest
pulled back my hood
and heard
more
rain
but further away
wholeness
in more than
four or five pieces
I
can no longer
put together
in my mind
this water glass
but I know
it’s there
identity
this poem
is a cat
whose new home
is a street
away
from the old
easter island
with time
we focus less
on the body
of those we worship
and more
on their faces
until
their bodies
are invisible
Tristan Moss
If you have any thoughts about these poems, Tristan Moss would like to hear them
