Footprints dissolve in the mud
feet: fleet, sudden muddy armada
six-seven songs thicken my head
warm prayers like stars, pleated breezes
Lost: can we care about mapped lines--
those echoes happening like strewn veins
open the bruised year, count what is sent
unpin hope--find it escape, flying like a signal
_
1 comment:
Did not know you were writing here again. I look forward to reading your thoughts. Thanks. R.C.
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