chirp.
sigh.
roar.
blue-gold-blazing coral.
cedar & hemlock commingle under my hands.
commercial flights begin their ebb and flow in earnest around 6am. for a time, this is their sky. once the initial flurry of their wings, beaks and spindly tucked-up legs has passed,
the birds (and slugs and wild-eyed cats) again have free reign of the place.
mornings are somehow more mysterious than midnight: the place i try to return to seems closer. no one’s around. nobody else has time for this particular kind of frivolity. sleep does have its own seductive pull, there is an allure to that kind of healing.
so now it’s just me, the sky, the earth, the whole sum of space and time (vast & intimate) and god.
coral-white.
soar.
high.
squawk.
— kelly sunrose. copyright 2015. do not reproduce without permission.
(When I took Roseanne Harvey’s writing workshop earlier this summer, I promised myself that I would start sharing more poems here.)
(P.S. This is what slugs look like here! Wild & free & other-worldly.)
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