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M Apr 16
Gone in a flash of
farewells bade; a burst of smoke,
a gradient fade.
M Apr 16
We'll lay a sturdy hardwood floor
with heavy hands and gritted teeth
for want of something better
than the dirt and grass that lie beneath.
But hardwood creaks and pops and groans
and is awfully frigid on drowsy feet,
so we'll tear those floorboards right back up
to stand in the dirt and the grass underneath.
M Apr 16
From baby's-breath and violet skies
to soot-black hands and bloodshot eyes.
From endless days to inquiring when
the night may cease,
if ever again.
M Jan 7
My shadow was growing tired of me
so I let her go, I set her free.
Out the door and through the trees,
beneath the sky, amid the breeze,
I watched her go, I saw her run,
her feet in the grass, her face to the sun.
She leaped and danced and sang to the air
and felt the wind move through her hair
and heard the lonely bluebird sing
of joy, of love, of everything.
I watched her go as the day grew long
and the evening sang a different song,
and she stretched out there along the ground
and waited for night to come around
so the stars could sing her off to sleep,
a calming melody, low and deep.
Free of me, her world now clear,
for shadows need not worry nor fear.
I watched her go, and now she's gone,
lost to the night (at least until dawn).
I watched her go, but I stayed behind,
bound by reality, trapped in my mind.
M Aug 2018
I wanted a souvenir,
so I captured the
words drifting out
from your mouth
and I slipped them
into my pocket
while you weren't
looking -- something
to remember us by.
M Aug 2018
December shivers beneath the weight
of freshly powdered treetops,
seeking momentary refuge from the night
within the warm confines of birch bark lungs,
coating the ever-shifting walls in
essence of pine and frozen earth
before escaping into the atmosphere once more,
shrouded in crystallized breath.
M Aug 2018
I breathe you in and
count to ten, then back to one --
and you're gone again.
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