Lift, mark, claim
as one's own;
we circle the nest,
nose to the ground
emptied out but taking-
a birds song we hear
then whistle.
Some of us are radiant,
irreversible, galaxies
whirling on naked rims;
others are sliding down
the jagged cliffs clawing
for a hand-hold.
2 comments:
All disappear (eventually) into black holes of despair.
Only to emerge (with a bang) at the rebirth of eternity.
Rachel, I do enjoy your poetry and I find your imagery inspiring.
Thank you so much Marty- that is wonderful to hear!
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