poetry

warmup series, #1

september fell like a prayer

and i ask, yet again,

if it is the season for figs.

silence has stayed here,

watching my lips fade from

licorice, to plum

to lilac.

i drove us to the hill where

milk pitchers tip and

stars drop like anchors.

no one sees me.

no one ever does.

across the sky

there is voice,

swinging to and fro

like an iron gate.

silence places copper pennies

over my eyes

as i dream

of walking through it.

One thought on “warmup series, #1

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