Painting by Michael Parkes
the skins of a thousand fields
water of truth
a hard fall
of light
drowning
to pierce
a wild
beauty
bitter
blind
closer to
empty
stars
her hair
inside
nests
combs
& hands
tendrils of
voices blessing
birds weaving air
above her red garden
do you remember her laugh
the bones breathing the hours
of late stumbles the last clouds
thrown the skins of
a thousand fields
resting here in
her wings
slipping folds
lapping lapping
Richard Lance Williams
Posted over on More Poetry
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