Darkness Blown Out by Wind
Much rang true, like something...
in the cadence of sounds droning sorrow
that illuminated
as the light illuminates what could be
as in any reality, what can be
a display of the white blossoms on the trees
the birds' steady song, to which I listen
under a blanket frayed relics and sweet memories
like the quilt's fabric my grandmother helped me weave
where the stars and moon shine past the shearing whistle
of galvanized creaking until the roar of its engine
becomes a gentler sound, carrying beveled glass
and honey to all the homes in the world
fading like my squeek and the sounds of night
with the changing lights, a low hum like...
an entirely other source of energy - point zero
with the beginning of spring growing nearer and closer
a fresher morning.
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