Brittle wind cracks my bones
Nothing like the hollow
Leaf filled heart.
I carry in me a secret
That eats away at every
Good part of me.
Naked wooden fingers
Cut silhouettes across the
Evening sky
Sad shadows of Summer,
Writing reality til Spring.
This hollow womb
Done wishing, yet still
Hoping the mirror of that hope
Will wind its way home
Someday to complete Tomorrow.
Mary Kirkpatrick, 12-23-24
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