Personal Writings and Essays

Soft Melting, Clocks Beating

I feel fine

 

the thread of

a silk worm

 

eyelashes at 

infancy

 

the prayer of

grandmothers

 

a sigh of

grief

 

the line of snow on

glacial horizons

 

sand in a southern

breeze

 

i feel fine

 

tears so delicate –

quartz crystals

under early sun

 

heartbreak squeezing

is a soft melting 

of clocks.

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