Behind the hard lip of mountains,
half-black
the sky lies in bed.
The gloaming smolders,
a warm resistance watered
by fierce blue.
We are bled,
one side
into the other,
East—
dark and slow
West—
firm in day.
Below us birds murmur
at the daily argument
of letting go.
1 comment:
Hi Beast! I checked out your blog, it is most excellent. And you are right, your spirituality does come through in your writing. I hope you are having a good day and that you always remember the moment when the people in your car sounded like they were dropping down a very steep track on a roller coaster!
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