when I was little, I asked

“is heaven in the sky, daddy?”

he said heaven is a further calling

a purpose, a destiny

          that love is blue

          and blue is limitless

when he was called home, I remembered

          love is blue

          and blue is limitless

                    like grief


spring inevitably brings violence

in the same bruised sky

a drunk wind pivots frantically

          swings in my direction

anger conjures up another storm

that thunders through windows

          and walls

the smell of rum is the sound of touch

          crack of an open hand


october’s orchard is still

at dawn

a family of deer feast on leftover fruit

they pause as they notice me

settling into a quiet, cold fog with

          the beekeepers ghost


the metronome ticks away

at distant shadows

words pulse in her eyes

like stars traveling in their

own orbit of solitude

desperation borders

the autumn

of her once auburn hair

          but she is fierce

slaying dragons until the heat

becomes too much

and imagination stops racing

through her heart


blind birds stumble

from a damp bed where

poetry grows

          starved for attention

          starved for scent

hands stir awake the grasshopper

who spits like a preacher from

the pulpit

I am the rose

swallowing clouds

          full of tears

as day casts a spell of yellow

I bud my petaled armor

          sharpen my fangs

©  lori hamilton


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