Poetry of Tom Greggs
  • Poems 1
    • Fair For Any Bird
    • Untitled II
    • Old Photo / Black Luger
    • Stirrer of Seas
    • On The Stair
    • Red Delicious
    • The Occasional Poem
    • Emerging
    • Proper Use of the Scythe
    • Anemone
    • Hole in the Wall
    • Muddy Waters
    • Gauguin in Ketchikan
    • Red Tailed Hawk
    • Poet, Adjusted
    • April
  • Poems 2
    • Jack Straws
    • A Titanic
    • Unclothing
    • Counting Cop Cars
    • Cargo Cult
    • Island Bird
    • River Stones
    • Boy in Victory
    • The Difference Between Burying and Planting
    • Vietnam Memorial In Rain
    • How Relationships End
    • Clearing of the Land
    • Periwinkle
    • Surge Channel
    • An Artist Gives Birth
    • White Church in a Deep Field
  • Short Poems
    • Beach Cabin
    • Untitled
    • Short Poem 1
    • Drive Time Jazz
    • Road to Walla Walla
    • These Things
    • Short Poem 2
    • Short Poem 3
    • The Undulate
    • Short Poem 4
    • Living Twice
    • You-Me
  • Sock Drawer
    • Washaway Beach
    • A Splendid Christmas Corpse
    • Who Laid the Bone
    • Everybody's Packin'
    • She's the Next Best Thing
  • Contact Me

                                           Hole In The Wall
                                                         —Valdez Island


                                                I see you step into the void

                                                again and again, your fall played out

                                                on a retinal screen of gray/blue spin 

                                                water to sky / sky to water

                                                the vertigo drop guaranteed 

                                                to bunch me like a spider



                                                You must have heard my careless climb

                                                rattling the dry pine and sometimes 

                                                in my mind it’s you who’s unaware

                                                we're a hundred feet 
above the sea 

                                                but it was me who didn’t see you 

                                                tensing on the bough of the madrona


                                                Expressions of our lives set free

                                                can be like eagles stepping

                                                into parabolic flight

                                                and I feel that same snap--


                                                the outward rise of wings

                                                caught by thermal springs

                                                last of the summer light





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