Friday, December 13, 2013

Poem & Painting

 Poem Made of Sleep

Mother slips into sleep
beside the banked fire.

The red pulse at its core
warms her bones
but it’s flesh
that keeps her rooted here
a steeple of fingers
under the chin.

When she opens scribbled lids
to dreams already pulling away
her hands, twined at the thumb
flutter. Along the route of her dark
migration, two birds follow one another
into the guttering shadows.

-from Murmuration, published by Gold Wake Press

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