tears well
buckets descend
dreams walk the bridge
between psyche and sunrise

I am tired of the surface
the mundane, the conveyer belt of routine
to do, to do, to do
check, check, check

fashion me a bucket
slip me into a spate of tears
drop me below night’s horizon
into the star-studded sea
where I will sink, then dissolve
into a timeless remembering
of origins and being
and sweet, deep return

--

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Photo by Scott Carroll on Unsplash

It was spoken
in the angle
of the fawn’s cracked neck
twisting toward flank.

It was whispered
in death’s blinding act
the unseeing eye,
all life’s promise broken
in a flash of steel
headlights and flesh
meeting.

It was echoed
in the brown and white-spotted husk
crumpled on the roadside

while the doe stands
across the divide
still, listening, waiting.

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