***
birds rise from ash
trees
on the forehead of a man
drawn, cross-hatched
and held up and
weary of it.
spit and breathe on the life of this until
it washes and runs into the valleys of
hand, face, us. what's welling there
is a window into the world of the
rising pink voices, quivering like the strings
that God plucked, as he sat, courting
our Mother.
trees
on the forehead of a man
drawn, cross-hatched
and held up and
weary of it.
spit and breathe on the life of this until
it washes and runs into the valleys of
hand, face, us. what's welling there
is a window into the world of the
rising pink voices, quivering like the strings
that God plucked, as he sat, courting
our Mother.
thanks, I like the looks of it, friendly & inviting.
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