I am spent, and I am quiet
with suspended longing.
My river runs low
into cold-cold valleys.
My waiting is a bird in the sky,
turning, turning. Turning
my head from side to side
with searching eyes.
A scream wells up in me,
first fills my head
and then my room,
airtight ready-to-burst balloon.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
I am spent, and I am quiet
with suspended longing.
My river runs low
into cold-cold valleys.
My waiting is a bird in the sky,
turning, turning. Turning
my head from side to side
with searching eyes.
A scream wells up in me,
first fills my head
and then my room,
airtight ready-to-burst balloon.
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