Theodore Worozbyt

Two Poems

Black-eyed Flower

If each petal turned out to be exactly like a bird, gone without explanation.
If we noticed a pattern beginning to sway, it’s this stack of dishes
red and nearly falling. Then the telephone rings as it does, to save the day.
Aching to come looking came the aching, a long way down the creek
and into the meadow where the grass, tall and yellow,
grew without meaning to be yellow.







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