A Huitain for Poetry Week at The Writer's Cramp. Thoughts of 2023 - for my mother. |
| Her hands lift - then, like water, fall translucent, beautiful...so cold. My mother's dying down the hall. Her tiny body I enfold; with eyes of seafoam green and gold. They've carried weights in waves of years; behind her gaze, oceans untold... time bends away as heaven nears. note ▶︎ |
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