Sunday, May 20, 2018

Kerri Shying R # 457- that grave earth-scented tutor I write

slid beneath  my weighted blanket    heal 
the sorrows   of   outside
 pressing  moments    the wreckage fears for future   
are not below   this slice    I am
the soil below the road   

that grave earth-scented  tutor    I write

letters praising daylight     the  brisk air
  and circulating  tendrils  seek cracks
becoming   all the woven  mats of
nurture      my clay   expressed     small-lidded  silent    
listening for the morning  light

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