person GJ Hart, one poem

GJ Hart currently lives and works in London and has had stories published in The Molotov Cocktail, The Jersey Devil Press, the Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing with himself over @gj_hart.

Until Until

You are here
My friend, you are here,
Living one lung deep
As the wind twists
Its copper in the high oak
And animals burrow
Into future’s
Searching hands.

Stand and stand and
Stand again when
The day is fat as yellow,
Or thin as clouded stem,
Or when its base rocks
And it taps its nose and turns –
You are here my friend,
You are here.

So enough my friend
Enough, time to roll skin’s
Picnic and whisper
To the seed, whisper
To the egg, whisper till
The eating rain lifts
Its head and you hear

You are here
My friend you are here

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