May 13

I hold a mirror to my sister
and brother. Ask my father,
ask my mother how they adore
the sand and the water.

Both are flowing through fingers
leaving lines like rills,
cutting slowly through skin
till we become valleys and pitfalls.

Advertisements

Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s