Occasional

This entry is part 57 of 93 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2011

I never thought it possible to fall
so many times, to startle like
a new blue pulse against

the rifts between—
I never knew how thin the milk
of absence or how the tunic

rubbed its velvet raw—
I never knew the hungry
hummingbird

could press its breast
(light, feathered)
to the metal flamingo—

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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