Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Morning Salvage

Trying to salvage
the radiance of mind
in another morning where the fissure of fear
crawled next to my skin at the darkest hour
on the premise that I might find some shining

promise of dust
and sweat
and the blood that moves
from nothing
into everything we ever shared.

Red as a door
on a New Year's day,
freshly painted
and welcoming the stranger
to the table overflowing
with anxious breath
and doubts as ripe
as a sugary, sticky fig.



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