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(for uncle don) .. you held them there near your heart, those golden pieces of sun, where our tiny hungry hands could always reach. .. A second offering for today’s NaPoWriMo. Advertisements
.. we quench our thirst with feathered spell, and poems fall like early flowers. ..
.. Follow the rise of eyes to sky. While waiting, we place shame near the base of a fallow tree, a primal garden reaching for a Judas kiss. .. A day-late Wordle.
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) – E.E. Cummings .. april … Continue reading
.. The grief is a gangrene monster sitting on her chest, a long lone echo through the empty corridors where there used to be a whole wide world. .. Prompted by PAD day 3.
Oh, but she’s a storm. The sky’s got a new slant, curl of cloud and scattered song. The syllables of her name are fleeting, sleeting, bleeding ink and drinking in the stone -washed bruises of another dawn. .. Prompted … Continue reading