Tags
it's what I do, love, naked truth, poetry, spirit, story, time, troubled, witness, writer
tell them I was haunted
by the sound
of swarming bees –
drifted on a ring of
cedar smoke
ask for their forgiveness
lest they speak of this again –
last I knew
you were the only one
to know
how deeply
I am troubled
how hard the verses fall
tumbled as a sigh
upon the sheets
offered up as penance
for mornings turned away
daylight pressed
against our every need
you can tell them
I went mad –
tore every curtain down
set the barn ablaze
one Friday night
was while
you lay sleeping
on the floor beside our bed
burdened by the words
I couldn’t write
. . .
tornadoday 