This entry is part 33 of 41 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2012


Within the labyrinth,
the grain of wood
runs counter to
the energy of
the sun;
so I work
to dream the voice
of water unspooling
its sacred thread,
leaping toward a door
open in a distant world.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← If only the wind now dresses the treesNovember →

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