The day I uncramped my fingertips From the final handhold Of who we once were. I heard a resounding shiver across The cliffside scrub
By Ann Wilthew2 years ago in Poets
Perched on a sagging fence I think about the stars I can't see The ones tucked under deep folds of time Blanketed within a million lifespans
The trash bag spent all Spring Disentangling itself from the Winter Melt. Its handles fluttered like eyelids Its crinkly lungs heaved and lifted