dogtrax

Minutes and seconds, hours discarded like leaves; Decomposition

for Algot

That hour, misplaced back in Spring, returns again; a moment too soon

Cold, as if your bones might just break from the shaking, then comes the embrace

North winds always blow cold, collapsing the mountain inside a moment

Finding poetry in the dew of the morning, ghost writers at work

We can still go to the wild things, singing — from Hearing Wolves Through The Dark Pines by Joseph Fasano

Crouched down inside the dark, where disquiet sleeps until awoken, listen for the wild song of the wild things, spoken whispers in a raspy voice, reminding me to run

Original Poem: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/FpvQ5OcXwAE5Ceu?format=jpg&name=900x900

Its insides, stringed, like a cello, folded up; we chew on the muse

Watching lazy steam dance and curl, and then dissipate, on an apple pie

Colored dust remnants smudged on gloves – fragile old leaves; Crayola collage

for Algot

From above, with love: the world is wider, wilder than you imagine

for #writeout via DS106 Daily Create