A selection of Poetry by Michael March

Only a promise


You fell
through yourself
what was known
the war flickered
in the evening sky
Her hand was warm
what were her words
not for us
not for us


Floating face down


“Returning to the palace of shadows

in oblivion singing the night song”

The grammar of cities―lousy

We rule―floating face down



The rest


Put it between a piece of bread

or send it to die with the rest

Should there be a table—

push it away—and forget it

was ever there