| Photo By Victoria Shaw |
dwarf forget-me-not in alpine meadow to this black residue of ink and not see the smoke in mirrors the mannerisms. A weak trick of words that flutter but cannot fly, or flying cannot land like starlings startled into infinity somewhere out beyond the hand setting down the pen. This incongruity in the bones of things that seeks its cure in nomenclature. Each word first or last each outlasts its miniature petals of blue the inner yellow eyelet stamen, which then seems not so delicate not so permanent in its renewal but somehow yet bears up against cold truth which in the end is the tundra’s love of words and words their alpine tundra. |
| Tundra Poem George Moore |

| The Honey Land Review Spring 2009 Volume 1, Issue 2 |
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