Digital

This entry is part 18 of 29 in the series Conversari

 

Each finger burrows
into its own sleep.
One or two twitch but
the thumb lies still
as an anchor.
Come morning, those
that dreamed will blossom;
the others will leaf out.
And I who kept them warm
will rise like rain in
a tall tale & take root
in a cloud of your breath,
so soft, so sea-worthy.

In response to “Hands.”

Series Navigation← HeartThe Fullness of Time →

2 Replies to “Digital”

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Your email address will not be published.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.