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…. 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
… 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
… 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
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.
… 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
.. 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
.. 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.