Saturday, July 12, 2014

300 ft from the top


sometimes the trick is in cutting the wire
allowing the fall
feeling the bone crunch of rocks & recognition
hearts ripped from viscera & the soul's moored memories
patterns of moonlight on
blue snow, blue snow, blue snow
can we be more then where we've been?
can we trace the patterns of forgiveness upon our wounds?
sorrow becomes the morning's stillness
as we hold dear the fragments of our being
sometimes love is in cutting the wire ,,,,.

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