Night
falls
apart.
The sun has
sifted through low clouds,
sliding against the horizon
like orange-red drops of tea scattered by careless hands.
We wake softly, lacking Bodhidharma's contrition,
to take in the quiet of dawn
and inhale cold winds
whispering
across
blue
moors















Comments
such perfect imagery.
you really write beautifully ^^
--
It's here, in the sleeping drops, and uniforms of silk
~Karen Knight
Our wishes are for Bill
my band: [link]
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