At home my aimless mind writes poemless lines. Homeless under trees or sky, my lines take aim to fly.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Night has a blue all its own
Night has a blue all its own--
a color so deep and long,
a shade that bells with coyotes,
that chimes with frogs.
Night has a blue so concordant
I close my eyes and listen to it
long after I've returned to the light
of morning.
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