I ask the midnight sun If she can stay like this forever. She cries out, You don’t tell me what to do. Once white-capped mountain
Suddenly in funeral uniform, Curated grief and museum mourning - Not dead, Just different. Snowmelt to waterfall tears Over basalt black-tie suit And lament bared to sky blues. Shrinking glacier, Long-lost love. I miss you so much That I consider writing home. Snowmelt fills the river, Which drowns the dunes, Which water the flowers, Which beckon the salmon home, Which feed me. The midnight sun Is life, itself, metamorphosed Into white water bellows, Braided oceans, Whale ripples. Snowmelt sorrow - sorry. Seasons are supposed to change. Things die and grow. Including me.
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About MeHi! I'm Andrea. I really like words. Categories
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September 2023
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