Scars
After: “Because right now there is someone out there with a wound in the exact shape of your words.” ~ Sean T. Daughty, The Sound O of Sorrow
Her shredded wings
on a coneflower
regale the storm she navigated.
A butterfly endures storms,
embraces sun and flowers.
Her flutter stamp imprints
on each collecting raindrop.
Multiple impressions
gather
in mirrors of water.
Versions of herself expand.
Crystal teardrops stretch.
Drop-by-drop.
She drips.
She falls and splashes
wounds, healed by sunshine.
~~~~
country house
The house perches
on Martic Heights
near the ridge-top.
A curtain of land
fills the front windows.
The door opens north.
The living room
on the backside
faces south into the sun.
From morning to night
light flows through
a window wall
that holds the sky
and tree tops heavy with birds.
This poem is not about an oil painting.
The arms embrace north and south.
This is really a poem about home.
http://www.poetryh.com/Journals/Poetry%20Journal-005.htm
Date Published: October 6, 2019