by day's end
the tuning fork stabbed so deep
into my heart begins to sound
some kind of song
and the sky is
a syrupy catastrophe--but somehow
now even moths lumbering blindly
signify hope
Pic: Smelling the lilacs with L
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endings
1) Jeanie said something in the comments last week that I haven't been able to stop thinking about. She noted that 2025 had been a year...
1 comment:
Beautiful poem, fills me with hope :)
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