..
This poem is the syllables
of my hot-mess heart,
the spilling of my song.
She aches
for Lake
and salt
and sand
and sunrise
and a full fat moon.
This poem tip-toes
on her un
-ambic feet,
dangles part
-iciples, kerns
and culls her own
alphabetic alchemy.
She likes words
that go bump
in the night.
This poem is
the palming of psalms,
the quiet streams
that lead, the still
waters that heal.
And when she’s feeling
whole, she knows
the cobbled word stone
way to do it all again.
..
Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 6.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
This poem is a song that never ends. Well written and such a delight to read. Warm greetings!