The Mutter Of Winged Beings
Like a syrup of glowing suns
I arrive this tale a millipede with razors for legs,
By the corner lies a broom, duty-filled and exhausted...
From my son are questions,
"What happens to prayers that go unanswered?"
It sits in my throat like a lump refusing to diffuse...
My wife's eyes house hopes seeking shelter to sit...
but there are no rooms for more in these palms outstretched...
Birds,
We become those prayers winged beings mutter in flight...
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