and i go to those hidden valleys and ridges
known to the likes of ancient creatures and spirits
and with my eyes down and my hair wild
i ask my lovers of past
to take my photo

as if the mist did never have lips!
and mossy bark won’t hold even a scrape of my skin!
there standing in
defiance and manic understanding
like a tease
my hair wild

i feel
i am no mystery
without my warmth
for the cold-pressed loss
lasts, lasts
time itself, baked in your name

the creatures and spirits
my eyes and hair,
we burn
and rise once again

so lovers of past
take my picture
for my warmth i send


4 thoughts on “Warmth

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