Widowed Without A Manual

Some of us grieve longer then others. I will not be rushed out of my love, that still inhabits my heart.

The Sky is A Blanket

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door opens
there is the slight breeze touching face and toes
behind there is warmth
one foot moves forward
there is a gravely texture that separates toes
standing still feeling feeling the robe move
there are are no visible stars tonight
only a sky with shades of pale yellows in areas
with eyes closed other senses step forward
there is the slightest smell of smoky heat looming in the air
occasionally a single drop falls but makes no sound
one note chimes there is no wind
music of crickets rubbing their back legs circles and fades
no stars dancing tonight
the heavy sky feels like a blanket
tonight no sky was touched
only the smell of a dying forest
when the night falls
when the air is still
when you let yourself feel the earth and sky
you can sense the accumulations of universal tears
door closes
1;14am friday may 13 2016


Author: ilovecloudstoo

I live in Canada though​ I was not born here. Newfoundland is where my heart breathes. Primarily I am a visual artist, welded and or cast bronze sculptures. Sylvia Plath may have been the seed planted in me that is creating poetry. Since then I have read so many great modern poets work. Art is my sustaining business poetry sustains my soul.

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