Wednesday, July 22, 2020

smells like rain

the jarring road
the blue sky
the wind
the sorrow
the rhythm of this day carves birds from my bones
     and they fly they fly
becoming the morrow

I am of dust and sweeping grasses green
the passage of clouds
sky a blue I've never seen

the humming 
the buzzing 
all around all around 
sweat sticky & nectar sweet 
(apparently) 
wildflowers yellow as far as the eye can see 

the jarring rattling road 
the bluest sky 
the ceaseless wind 
the hollow sorrow 
the rolling rhythm of this day widens my heart 
     and it beats it beats 
becoming the morrow 

to hold this course 
to raise the hope 
chase the dream of something wider 
something vaster 
something beyond the grasp 
becoming the wind 
becoming the hollow 
becoming the humming 
becoming the sky 
becoming the blue 



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