Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2016
When I look down
from a plane
and see the
foamy white
of day-clouds, &
imagine if
the birds can
hear me here,
I imagine this
thing
and another-
where you're
beneath these
patterns
and where I'm above
the sky
is there a sort
of way like a
cloud,
that I have no
perceived
beginning or an
ending?
Written by
Sarah  F/Oregon
(F/Oregon)   
  468
   AllAtOnce, ---, ---, ---, PS and 2 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems