On God’s wind


A bird in flight
carries the faith
morning, noon and deeper still
into winter nights
calming those who
are scrambling to write
another line of life
with rhymes, such as I,
a poet assuming
this is merely a miscue.
To write of departed
and went, perhaps wrong
before it turned out right
is like another faucet left to drip
within a heart, echo
off snow-capped mountains
on God’s wind
to become a bird in flight
such as I.

burn baby burn

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