Under a glowing cumulus streak,
baby bumps in the earth
roll in burlap colored dirt
and ankle scratching ferns.
Behind them,
colored blue
by the haze of distance,
tower rock,
sharp and coarse
from years of turmoil,
look like they’re wearing
tiny white fleece caps.
My mind is almost
silent,
only speaking up to
remind me to breath.
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
Under a glowing cumulus streak,
baby bumps in the earth
roll in burlap colored dirt
and ankle scratching ferns.
Behind them,
colored blue
by the haze of distance,
tower rock,
sharp and coarse
from years of turmoil,
look like they’re wearing
tiny white fleece caps.
My mind is almost
silent,
only speaking up to
remind me to breath.