FEATHER WEATHER

it's not every night i get a handle on this world

my hair marks the days

i stow away a hard drive and gentle, yes, pulse

a prayer throbbing in my left breast

nod at the world, we see her,

speaking words, we see you.


perhaps another novelist's words are the frequency.

rising tune in the swirling of my seas

a harried braid wild from the days

smile on a postcard and pray.


stir the ocean and we walk there.

you're my evergreen

purest myrrh to still the seas

catch me.

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