7 acessos
There are only three photographs
Of me on the west coast
Entrusted to those hosts
Who held me out there
One shows me standing
By a brief sapling
One knee bending
Sullenly smoking
One is me holding
A length of chain
While on one cheek must
Be a streak of rust
In one other picture
One may only conjecture
How my constant protector
Could let me be so