I've become the breeze
over the scorpion
through the sands, an imprint
of what should've been—Your bay—a desert now, an ash of certainty.
Shadows ingrained beneath me,
fused in abrupt heat.
You're meant to float—and I'm no longer able to share this puddle,
and amble in darkness, simply. Now,
I hold the flint
never to strike your eyes in moonlight.
YOU ARE READING
Of Yesterday
Poetry[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...
