what utterances can
we make of
transient, shifting light?
a windowsill of thought
gently murmurs towards
a longing
in my heart and
like the earth, I move
in a whorl of missing
spaces lingering
on a memory of softer
winds whose moment
cannot recall its
own rumination
foretold, forgone,
forever furrowed
into the clouds
of an errant sun,
gold-enlaced with the
caution of gabardine
because my heart
can’t stand the cold
any longer …
so I castigate the transition
of tomorrow’s folded light
as it releases me
from fear, from love’s
own requisite longing

© Thespian Drummer / Utterances

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