Still
I was born looking I didn't cry Scanning the room I was possibly searching for – In other words, snow fell from the moon in heaps Your hair so white now so white
Moira Walsh makes her home in southern Germany and translates for a living. Her poems can be found in Anthropocene, Bennington Review, Denver Quarterly, Poetry Northwest, Streetcake Magazine, and other places. Get in touch and read more at: linktr.ee/moira_walsh.