The wind

A great poem from a great writer

Spruce & Anchor

It was a gust of wind
that finally knocked me over.

I appeared, wind-blown and hungry.
Starved, from the winter-long
hibernation.

You, a feast for eyes and soul.
A banquet of six courses of thought.
Palate cleansing sorbet
meeting tongue and cheek.

A dew dropped morning of
cloudy despair and sun grazed lips
fill my ear with
the secrets we do not share.

A memory simple enough
to be altered
underneath the blanket of
quilted afterthoughts.

There was no birth, or death,
resurrection maybe
reincarnation mostly
karmic cleansing breaths
lung capacity
none.

Alone at last, side-by-side,
usual suspects on the dotted line,
we were runaways on a milk carton
kids in the street taking candy from
strangers.

Tomorrow was not promised,
It was given and taken away,
The calendar stopped noticing
When we did not sleep
eyelids weighed heavy,
hearts.

I see you in the distance
A pointillism painting
Where…

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