a phoenix grew old
the ruin in a wetland
the moult a mildew
an ancient damsel
set a mold wool a cold room
sunset a webbed rest
enclosed a missive
love beyond a resemblant
sunrise the comet
a phoenix grew old
the ruin in a wetland
the moult a mildew
an ancient damsel
set a mold wool a cold room
sunset a webbed rest
enclosed a missive
love beyond a resemblant
sunrise the comet
mornings can feel that way…..
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death was easier to understand than the untrue
after the solstice the downhill
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i saw a birthday card once, had a bunch of people standing on a hill waving. caption read “here’s you and your friends on your birthday” …. “you’re down the hill”
i caught the morning sun over the Wasatch bit ago w/my coffee and smoke, birds chirping happy w/the recent rain. sometimes lovely happens only when you look up
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I am digging a hole to fill the hill into…
it’s the only way up there…
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rebirth and death, being at the edge of each other
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without preference, one is
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