Letting the Water Hold Me Back

 

baby driver 3

Wall to wall.

Rushing waters so fast they imply a  stall.

Winter’s root seems to have loosened her pace.

There is abrasion to her typically, smooth surface.

 

Everyday, I pass by a downy path.

I can only assume it leads to a dark tundra of creations unknown.

In refrain,

the wild-birds echo a refrain to their song…

I am in their home.

Puffs of once frozen,

white wigs.

Have turned into slushy, sodden, remains of the days.

 

The earth has bared all the select, segments, she will.

I turn a footprint towards the path of no end.

Smiling to myself,

this courage is just pretend.vacant paths deep thinkers 1

 

Jubilee’s Stance

Crows have picked all sanctimonious bones from my husk, so over the hill

Doubts hurl about in the frenzy of drafty April’s afternoon

Theologians with their vestments of velvet billowing from the tundras

could never let their fibers flounder in the stance of this jubilee

This epiphany defies sectarian gospel

So much so, any shallow impetus…neither could not or would not, draw a rebirth improvisation from established misery

A sense of victory weaves as poetic vines in circles around the lies once fed

The earth does not grow beneath a prostrate bed