Saturday, April 23, 2016

Gusts, Number 23, Spring/Summer 2016

a corona
around the wolf moon's eye
looking deeply
into every shadow
I touch the pulse of night

the soughing
of willows in night wind
how gentle
the songs of daughters
tending to their mother

though nothing
more than hieroglyphs
these names inked
upon ancient stones
I carry them with me

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