hewn and hallowed

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full moon poetry
jagged and raw
bleeding from the wounds
of an ancestral saw

back and forth as it goes
through the passage of time
with these hands, grandfather
that cannot be mine

and moments move cyclically
wearing your flesh
to move as a reaper
to ceaselessly thresh

and how is it i cannot
remember my name
in a memory that was
never the same

and a child of a child
and who can i be
are there worlds grandfather
beyond this i can’t see

Greg Alston is a gardener, cook, father and some other things, too.

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