i hear you throaty warbles on cue as i step into the cold. but i have yet to behold the graceful arc of your neck and the playful dance of your trek along the ancient current. oh sandhill, it’s as if you weren’t so different from me floating on the edge of free.
it’s in the not knowing that the heart wrestles with pain on one side and joy on the other. not knowing whether to write or not to write, to build or not to build to preach to the captives or to stay silent. are the birds full of such angst as they gather before theirContinue reading “on not knowing. a poem.”
i told the trees a secret still lush from summer still green with naivete you will break apart again just like every fall just until you think you’ll die but when the last of winter ebbs you’ll be standing your arms raised high and bare in victory so don’t be afraid of change like theContinue reading “stand: an autumn poem”