Burning the Wishes

We have such small bones,
such slight hearts, such

ordinary hopes we scribble
upon strips of paper then feed

to the fire that flickers
in the hollow of a bowl—

Quickly the flame consumes
what we lay on its tongue:

small now and sleek but soon
wild bud grown bold—


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← In the groveFisheye →

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