by Bill Ebert

Less is more.
Mies van der Rohe

Pale blue-veined, swollen knuckles
wince wringing the cloth,
moisten lips that may never speak
I love you, again.

A grizzled muzzle snarls and barks,
paws hold the ground between
berry-picking children and
a coiled copperhead.

Since great-grandfather,
a green mailbox, paint peeling,
perched on a cedar post,
marks the lane back home.

There is so much else
I want to say about love,
a carpenter’s death, a dream dreamt out loud,
a shared peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich.  But

less is more.

Bill Ebert returns to poetry after a too-long hiatus in professional and technical writing.  He has been at one time or another a published illustrator, and an award-winning essayist and photographer.  Bill is a grad student in the English Department at YSU, holds an MA in Journalism from Kent State University, and a certificate in European Studies from Schiller College in Germany.  All too often, he and his partner in mischief, Raggs the Wonder Dog, can be seen careening around the Hudson area like Rapid Roy the Stock Car Boy.

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