Terese Coe -Poetry

RELENTLESSRounder and deeper than the line, the soundbreaks up through dry leaves.Meandering, the river,  through you. Branded, you, with even the bitterness that brandsthe Western range.THIS IS NOT A MANIFESTOHis last days as a free citizen, lying on the floor unable to riseonly to fall again, blind and lost among the scattered pills, the running faucet, food in the fridgein the isolation of his apartment. For months she’d read to him from the blind...