Trapped
This desert of my mind
cracks like a dry lake
crisscrossed with hexagons of thought
each thought separated by unbridgeable
crevasses, each one doomed to
remain within its borders until
some far day in which
merciful clouds blotting the sun,
pouring rain like mourner’s tears,
can melt those remorseless rims.
Words of My Father 
Jonathan (son #3) said,
3 September 2006 at 3:33 pm
This poem appears to have been written in 2002. It is one he was revising for submission to the Stanford Poetry Fellows competition. I believe there are other versions of it as well, and will post the variations as I come upon them.
qazse said,
12 September 2006 at 10:07 am
great poem