Wednesday, June 10, 2009


smoke, it wreathed the february air
the scent, burning cedar caught my notice.
A fickle finch passes, brushing my hair
calling, it chirps, a love done, missing sweet bliss.
a full moment takes from me a breath of despair
I had felt an angels holy kiss;
all of this under a roar-
a waterfall, figuratively became a door.


Jessie said...

Each time I stumble upon this one, it feels terrific'ly new.

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