IN THE LAST ANALYSIS (After Su Tung Po) The sky is a vast table I’m hiding under, but it seems fragile as glass. Clouds drift through its cracks, and when night arrives, another day is lost. A star flickers. Then like this fleeting day, it simply burns away. It’s what we’re made of. It does what it was meant to do. It rises. It flickers and it dies. It was only meant for me to wonder why.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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