The day I uncramped my fingertips From the final handhold Of who we once were. I heard a resounding shiver across The cliffside scrub
By Ann Wilthew3 years ago in Poets
Perched on a sagging fence I think about the stars I can't see The ones tucked under deep folds of time Blanketed within a million lifespans
The trash bag spent all Spring Disentangling itself from the Winter Melt. Its handles fluttered like eyelids Its crinkly lungs heaved and lifted
By Ann Wilthew4 years ago in Poets
