Through winter's pale
and heart's formation
held the glass-eye prism,
which split the light
like morning dew,
handless icicles,
blood withdrew.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Through winter's pale
and heart's formation
held the glass-eye prism,
which split the light
like morning dew,
handless icicles,
blood withdrew.
July 2015, started on a toilet, wound up on a dream journal
yes or no to 2nd stanza?
This would be done
were it not just age,
just gravity's mercy
or a songbird's call,
a repetitious call
from lungs so small,
an echo
that hangs on
a cloudlet's lips.
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