Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Red Lights, Vol. 11, Number 1, January 2015

a ragged curl
of birch bark fluttering
in the sun
even our smallest wounds
become limned with light

oh, my friend
I thought I heard an owl
call your name
on the night you flew
off the face of the earth

sunburnt children
holding conch shells
against their ears
the susurrous ocean
calling them home

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