Words arise unfinished,
current like thunder shoots
between my ears and
reaches to the heart of me.
I’m a-mused, co-opted, and
en-amored to the root of me.
Unglued and unstuck presence.
Deep inside a furled leaf
yet untouched by sun
both fragile and fragrant.
Weak though not sentimental.
Slipping under, it takes
home and mirrors narcissistic
Re-generation. Re-do. Re-take.
Morning craves and calls. Soon
skylights spread over green expanse,
open and thread gold through my chest
throwing off routine and expecting
nothing but leaf-play.
- 1,956 hits
- “Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.” TS Eliot
TruthTell all the Truth but tell it slant— Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind— ~Emily Dickinson
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