Saturday, March 14, 2015

The anchor of a constellation
listens for the salt of pure sound.
The feather of Ma'at on the wind,
the sign of Miriam on her palms

reminds a mountain of silence
how music was an entire ocean
she conjured with her sistrum
he swore he'd never forget--

a stranger's eyes scorching
a brittle rose in midwinter
under a ceiling of lapis sky
the antidote meets its poison.


raw poetry by donna snyder said...

Such beauty and significance in so few lines and words. I'm so glad I found it.

Iulia Flame said...

Thank you for stopping by, Donna. xx

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