Monday, May 14, 2012


we lay
across warm wooden planks
your raw-honeyed voice
a basket that bears
endless days

now we are snow angels
in a field of tall grass
now we conspire with
the owl we bear
witness to

but you ride
leaving a tiny counter
piled with speckled notebooks
creamy sugar whispers call
from pages worn

*Inspired by  Kimberlee Conway Ireton's "On Inspiration"

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