they leave

they leave

I have skies I can fly into

they will hold me

 

 

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wake to/ single

wake to
single

talk to friends
who are birds

who have flight
my eyes with envy

watch them
fill the vessel

for them to bathe
their feathers

before given
to sky

 

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it is that I look at the sky

it is that I look at the sky
a bird sitting on the fence
singing to itself

 

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17-10-17

the dead leaf clung
to the branch

it would make
a good poster

for a wall
of someone

who understood
where souls

find thought

 

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each day/ a sky

each day
a sky

her color
lovely

 

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a flower/ I paint it

a flower
I paint it
in this poem
like van Gogh
to give you

 

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15-10-17

I don’t know if I have rivers
I could make a canoe
of my rib bones
and see if I can row it someplace
perhaps Eve being made of bone would know
if there were rivers in me

 

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