seventy seven degrees: ‘in a sky this blue…’


Ragged Words ~ Ben Weaver

seventy seven

In the meadow, wandering. Unfamiliar, to this field. Usually flocked, by sheep. Or birds. But mostly, cats. Still, sultry skies. Dusty blue, pastel smudged. By heat. I long, to melt. In copper waters. Molten glass, farm dam. Burnished mirror, for clouds. To float. Suspended in, an element. Stark definition, air meets. Water, line. Imagine: night. Difference, resolved. Dark water, black sky. Seamless. Floating in, a lake of stars. Beneath, another milky way. I yearn, to slip. My skin. And dissolve. A world, made one.

This road map home…

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