Poetry
The Artist Formerly Known as Trish
Stilts in an Alley
During the war there is three.
And we three dance.
Strange. Contorted postures.
Breathing in darkness. Thriving,
as though the sun may perish.
Between the past
and the horizon of the future.
Seeking the tangible
in the illusive.
Stilts in an alley.
We three dance.
This poem appeared in Church on Thursday, Issue #7, sometime in 1997.
