Tag Archives: wordles

Sevenling (Convicted)

Convicted by sunrise the changing seasonthe wayward voice of a shifting breeze ,  we play at staying chasing a lost raceholding greatness on hungry tongues. The day holds sentences we cannot serve.  

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Orion’s Wheel

…. We steal celestial moments, thread our words through belt loops touched only by gods light years away. We call names. Fall apart. Whistle and wait for the echo of our own syllables. The stars are pin-prick cat prints on … Continue reading

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Rancid Pavement

… Our shins walk toward the water – twin divining rods, shod in skin and shadow. The sky’s a rippled trance of whisper-thin blue, push -pinned up only by wisp of cloud. Who were we before this place? This indigo … Continue reading

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Holding Out Our Hands to an Indifferent Sky

… There’s a cost to forever. The flighty freedom of rain collected in spare jars. The way the road grooves left, a gift. A sign. There’s mercy at the center of these tides that bind. But alas, my mouth’s a … Continue reading

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Tire Tracks & New Trips

She only gets three days to sing her …………..shine, send a message to a chalk-trace moon; run loose these stilted lines, this flimsy wonder. wordled. 

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Stories Snapped in Half, and Shone

… We are born of ash and sigh -lence, quiet spirits caved in rain and song, dark skeletal tree limbs unsure of their own thin origins; reaching for sky. We count our rings, the things that tell us who we … Continue reading

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.. no reach of nail could keep him. no scrape of thorn, nor throne. no pierced trunk or bled palm. no turn of whip or vinegar taste. listen for the breeze of grace, the sigh of stone.   .. wordled

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Holding Out for Rain, without the Dance

.. 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.    

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sun(shine) on scattered petals

..   the sweet touch of spring months has longed us toward blossoming. plum tree adds her purpled snow. these velvet foothills are a low-hummed song; the sun’s a red smoke cask in a tangerine stew sky. .. It’s been … Continue reading

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The Day Our Stories Got Short

..   We used to talk tall -tales, surface trails of circle flow going no -where. These last small drips of us, this end, these stilted st(r)ands of hope, they’re fleeting. Just this: our beating hearts.   .. Wordled.    … Continue reading

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