Sunday, July 19, 2015


 dripping footsteps
 in woods and hollows,
 swirling on the blacktop,
 alive with hidden fear
 of a self
 pining for its own loss
  in the trees above the pond:
  who walks there
  trying to find me, seeing my end?
   if I was, I could grow alone
   like green leaves on a weathered trunk
   and learn how to dream,
   for memory seeks eyes
   as the bare trees scratch sky for light
   <moths dreaming of an empire
     of wool on fire \light>
     the flame inside,
     the window painted
     with our breath
     and playful scrawls
      clothe my bones,
      unravel my true nature:
      the dirt I'd do - if no one saw -
      cleansed in the fire

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