In this desert of hours—one remains without water—three voices wet
within a single throat—unable quench the silence. Muddied Eve,
naked without the sage, tossed into vile heat,
denied puddles in which to wash,
erase the cracks
each a path that only leads to deprivation. Blisters—though reveal minor truth,
become translucent in the setting sun
—lack ability to blend,
to hush deafening whispers—to provide
a shore within.
YOU ARE READING
Of Yesterday
Poesía[Completed] Of Yesterday is a poetry collection written over the last decade, and deals intimately with emotions related to loss, grief, love, recovery and renewal. The pictures used in this chapbook are my own photographs, taken and edited personal...
