and if you didn’t realize it was lost until today
the prize I thought I’d show you when the fires still were going
and the screeching sky was snowing and the the wind it slapped my
forehead when it came across my face to spit at my resistance to win my
silent race.
the moon above was beaming in a spooling spitting spiral and shooting
down smooth rain bursts to the tall, dark hands of the clear cup holding -
holding
a sentance sent from someone to stay a solemn notice of life here -
of life staying here.
And when the notice came it flew above me quick to fly
quick to soar
quick to look down and shadow us.

Poetry Magazine