Amazing poetry shared by a talented writer.
cover the sands,
in my hand
the bodies of ephemeral
my father holds my hand
by the rope of the bridge; it, in a sense,
is remote to me as a child;
in memory, it architects
a mist in mind,
white liana and fingers
threading my own
centered against the yellowed sun
and the light blue of the last sea
fallen by the shoreline
echoed like a near dream
with father on the bridge
half rocks, ebon,
quietly that lay
and hatch onto
a summer sea.
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I wrote this specifically for the dverse ninth year anniversary.
The prompt is this: “I want you to capture a moment in your verse. Clearly describe to us what is in that moment. Paint a picture for us with…
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