A Wounded Eagle

The wounded eagle

The cloudiest highs

The willowiest lows

A slight touch of white

Somewhere In between

A breeze of light from bright to orange then red

This is not a sunset


 it is I

My blood on this sketchy horizon

An eagle that never flew by…

A sunset of all

I sketched for you this forest

Colorless as the world would be

With you not seeing it

A green sandstone

This this pasture

With your bare feet

Not walking on it

All of this

Sunset of all

Colorless sketches

Poet’s heart

His darkness with no nights…


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