the old crow welcomes winter

i change         not hill
not tree
              to other rules

the next step’s
the liquid fall
              are deeper
tales       like a still sea
whispering             we are
unobvious            & dead ships sail
to other songs 

i keep the notes
close                 & everything’s a little
harder
a little
                  more tired
just asking
what it’s like to be human

there are places
where the world seeps through
where monsters
    gather
like shells
on empty beaches         holes
in the sky
                  are
singular response
from all my voices

a cold wind tonight

© Reuben Woolley


When I write of abuse and suffering, I write for the silenced and for the unvoiced. There is nowhere poetry cannot go. —Reuben Woolley


This poem will also appear on The Woven Tale Press website as part of a feature on Activist-Poets on Monday, April 25, 2016.

View guest contributor Rueben Woolley’s bio HERE

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