A journal of semi-detached poetry.

Grainger Woodcott

It's Unrealized

People don't even realize
that I can't see the far ridge through the haze.
It's as though mist starts to get included in the view.

It isn't apprehended
that I can't account for the imprint that's anterior to the fore.
Like the Mtn. just came up on where the shore's been.

It's yet to be ascertained
Whether or not what's been posited is fresh. Or antediluvian.
I'm told it'll be known once it carries through till tomorrow.

     (Text © Grainger Woodcott - Publication: August/September 2017)



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