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Apr 5
Bushy pine
Wild ghost of the sunrise
Supervising the storm
On Sunday morning

Rosemary and lavender drum
Against the glass
The wind plays her harmonica

My coffee isn’t hot anymore
there is no moon to be seen

Dog-eared pages bark
Plead for some curious examination
They roll open and over

My bones creak like the trees
Like the walls
The kettle whistles in harmony with
the wind, thick and full
Telling the fog to “move along”

I measure my wake in
Degrees of brightness
I find the moon in my reflection
It’s image paralleled across my cheeks
My chest emits a circular glow
Soft and warm

The rain lightens and
the ghosts of trees dance
Wavering spirits
Crawl back into the shadows

I carry the moon until the sky
Folds in half tonight
And it vacates this body
I’m still working on this
Jade C
Written by
Jade C  21/Non-binary/Portland, Oregon
(21/Non-binary/Portland, Oregon)   
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