The Nobleman of Ilijan


Our house of cards topples
while whirlwinds desolate.
We deconstruct our grief-
enmeshed capacities;

Look there—wheredoes this lead?
The pang of dread that lays
far beyond the sullen
roads drenched in mimicry

of unfamiliar strain.
Whereto, my love, does all
this effort sublimate?
Our children’s children

grow weary, their stubborn
youths powerless to boot.
Our feet are planted deep
in gratitude of you.


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