| Saturn seems habitual, The way it rages in the sky When we’re not looking. On this note, the trees still sing To me, and I long for this Mottled world. Patterns Of the lamplight on this leather, The sun, listening. My brother, my sister, I was born to tell you certain Things, even if no one Really listens. Give it back To me, as the bird takes up The whole sky, ruined with Nightfall. If I can remember The words in the storm, I will be well enough to sit Here with you a little while. Copyright @ 2014 by Noelle Kocot. Used with permission of the author. |
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