swathes my doorway . . .
its sweetness
calls to something hungry
that used to live inside
So Much More Than
we walk
under laden boughs
into silence . . .
a place of worship,
this architrave of snow
we make camp
in a dark sky preserve . . .
no stellarium
could rival
this magnitude of light
we become
so much more than
our wounds
lovely are the bruises
of crushed magnolias
Outcasts
the quiet
susurrus of stones
with each wave . . .
a refugee hushes
her frightened baby
silhouettes
of deer splashing
in puddles . . .
the bullied child
never that carefree
a cowbird
lays eggs in the nest
of her host . . .
too many people
feel they don't belong
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