The Books and Writings of
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

by Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

Groggy and cross, I step barefoot onto the concrete stoop.
It is cold and grey and wet.
I curse the paperboy who forgot the plastic wrapper.
My paper is like the weather.

I hear reproach from overhead and look to see
A vee of geese, talking to themselves as they head
To nesting grounds.
I smile at their conversation and the sound of satin wings.

Spring is near.


All contents ©2001-2010 Kurt R.A. Giambastiani