Contact James McGonigal
I Fail to Find the Hanged Man
Seen once in winter then forgotten,
frosty pilgrim between earth and sky—
old sack on a branch:
that broke in frost—
in the sling of the wind you
moaned and grinned at the stars.
Or heavy under rain
In spring an old sack
that lurks among leaves
looks more like baggy trousers or a
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