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

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


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← TryDistance, Then →

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.