Dying in the days
No bruise, no slash,
no bobbled neck.
But the why was yesterday’s
Today you’ve been spirited
I think of your gleam in the air.
Each time you streamed by
it was as if I’d witnessed
and you’d replied
to whatever deity was in sight,
catch me if you can.
Here’s a poem for Grace’s prompt on With Real Toads about writing about nature, thinking of one’s own insides. Not sure this qualifies. (I think it fit the prompt better, but I actually have edited since posting to take out the parts about me! Sorry, Grace!)
Also I’ve not read the book The Goldfinch, so this is not meant to refer to that, though I do hope to read it.
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