Revolutions, like Destinies


You don’t write for a long time

When birds have flown west

and valleys turned brown,

from the gold of the fall.

Those evenings you sense your breath

in your body, rhythmic

like the sea at night. Deep blue,

over the silver of the night.

And, you wait for your myth

to sprout, like baby Jesus.

When midnight announces

Revolutions, like destinies.








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