She Of The Crackling Sun





the winds, grayscraped,

along banks of rivers by dead embers

did not howl but were gently

inclined ~


                    rivers sought their morning paint

                    the burning dead swirled in air

                    and there was a whisper of reckoning


       my dream there did not awaken me

       until the sun dove into the crackling water 

my lover into prayed 


and my naked mind closed the sky 

others sought me through




















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DannyBeatty
Poetry
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writing DannyBeatty
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