promise me, son
that you’ll feel–
the hawks’ umber-wing September-shrill
that you’ll learn the voices
the deathless legions
borne upon her solitary cry
as it slices open a reticent sky
top, split from bottom
east, from west
north, from south
each, again halved–
and within each space
another world, gifted
if we’d dare its grace, and its peril
within each place
a secret, for those ready
a religion, without gods
a scream, fallen– within a whisper
a poem, greater than any sonnet
ever written
or any ever
to be
promise me, my son
that you’ll live
first
and achieve
last
if ever
you even bother
once you truly know–
promise me this
that you’ll notice
the dulled-shine eyes
of the children of the streets
and that you’ll love
them
without words
always
Beautiful. Really.
Thank you, Maureen. I appreciate the kind words
Eric, I’ve missed your words. Always a beautiful read ?
Hi Dorinda 🙂 Thank you. Been thinking about making an appearance on WP.com.. It’s just easier to interact, and it doesn’t make my hair fall out like running on my own server often does. I hope you’ve been well