Smoldering Dreams 

— a golden shovel poem after Robert Frost, author of Bond and Free


Please, don’t cast your love 

on me, I fear I’ll splinter. Why has

the wide-open country withered to earth

and bone. To circling walls. To 


snow smothering that which 

ventures out. A dream she

had that girl I was. She clings

to tender promises, shattered with


bruising fingers. Now the hills

are frozen in the violet twilight and

the starry sky eclipsed by circling 

crimson clouds a trembling thought: These arms


are not made to carry love. For once I stumbled about.


Noel Vanderbilt 

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