Saturday, September 26, 2015

north-west-morning-light













Tepid, this day ...
hanging garden of fissured possibility
inked in spaces left by who i was
and
who remains …
fractured mist rising
from
an ancient cigar box
smelling of longer days
the hands of ancestors scoop under my skin along my bones
touching the hollow places
where i choose to linger
and
wait
for the righting of the moon 

3 comments: