Micropoetry 4-10-2020

that carry the curdling song
of blood-washed shores
along the syllables
they’ve left behind

a call
hangs in the air
broken free
from prison windows
until, unanswered, becomes
the wandering wind

the rope
that binds us here
in beauty glimpsed
but never free

in the mirror—
antique and still

for a moment
the bird brings spring
to my windowsill

older than the earth
the life force
still moves through
sense and time
soft in every moment

in the violent fury
when mating is in the air

the empty jar
lies coated in dust
in the solitude
of a country road

rocks rearrange
in timeless pathways
forged in every generation

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