Saturday, March 6, 2021

Sixty-One:

61

Sometimes when a poem goes off

chasing it’s tail into a field 

of flowers and stumbles 

into the nettles it takes me 

a few days to lick my wounds 

and recover. The last one is no 

exception. Some of my happiest 

memories and my finest hours 

are because of a holy person. 

When they fail horribly 

and show their humanity my heart 

stumbles into a gopher hole

curls up, hides, and no longer

wants to look into the Son.


Markle~

06March2021

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