Lost poet

Lost poet(simon Bernard Elliott)

Roughed up by rusty black iced mornings.

The morbid rhyme comes a howling as a lake horse provoked.
The dusty eyes are licked by the cautious kelpie and it revives
my shine and vigour.
...
The loch a mirror of hard embedded tears now sold and formed frozen
like the will of the six.

The dreams of the seventh poet revolving and expanding.