Heat Crawls

My nose is pricked

With the knife edge of winter.

Heard it rapping

At my window all year.

For now I dance forward 

In tunnels of green.

I'm returning to where we were naked

To see if the ground is still warm.

Heat crawls up the tree

And weeps from it's leaves.

For us.

We became Mother's children

This ground will stay warm.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed