i hold to storm sky and
give to barrow flint
recalling all these
dreams i am, knapped
to a razors' edge
at the scrape of bone
chill, cast shattered
each wonton drop
for the fell heather,
scree to quench the day
i ache to not
ache to know
knowing, of sorts
2 responses to “knowing, of sorts”
Those last lines are so good.
Thank you very much Bridgette 💕
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