Poetry

Tint of Sound

figure-1

Thunder, iron-hued,
while a collection of dancing turns
in field clearings. Alabaster breath,
leaves pull west and fill.

A look, melic. Morning billowing like sea smoke,
the universe reflected in your bearing. I see
who I will become by the way you favor
talking with your eyes. By the heaving of bark and twig.

We tear hue over electric strain, depth dripping
silver, while I cradle my spirit, among other things,
brush thudding
around us.

And rain, clinking as it blues across

my cheek.

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2 thoughts on “Tint of Sound

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