Monday, September 29, 2014

Numbers 8: In Writing

Between the lines of
lanterns looming in
goosebumps gleam
skin pale and pitted
as a plucked dove

Stripped, shorn,
Hairless as a babe born
tadpole riding the rising wave
that wanders the wilderness

Bear me up
Lay me down
Bobbing between
The rise and crest
The you and them
The give and take

We are 
absence
air
puckered flesh
the sudden inhalation
asking

why?
when?

the closed O of shared breath

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