Musings #41


The only way I know –

I ask him if his faith

is beside him.

For I am about

to tell him news

precious to me, her name

unspoken for so long.


like the skull of a sparrow, grapes. Mother’s cut

glass decanter crossing the Atlantic Ocean

in a marked box. Spider web, tissue paper

and butterfly wing, a rose in the moment before

its petals fall all at once. Like a camel’s back,

bridge over water, tibia of horses.

Like painting in sand, a thin blue shell,

like peace and ego, the underbelly of things.


he gentles himself

to listen,

folding his rough-skinned hands.

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