Use these rambling fingertips
To tamp a fire lit and tamed
Concave shape,
Lost in thought
What a shame it is
The voice I use to speak
Is dependent upon
A single line of text
Roaming without a lexicon,
Imagine being able to read
Two sentences at once
Understanding each as true
As the counterpart,

Inhaling a forgone ritual
Of pacific winds drifting
Through bramble winter lands
Spiraling wisps holding hands
With the still silence
Of briars frozen
And somewhere near snow-snaps
Beneath fading frost
A spot illuminated
By a sliver of sunlight
Filtered through foliage tapestries
The impression of a deer
Can be seen whispering
To the buds of a cedar tree,

Exhaling braided breath
So if the soft rose
Glowing between these hands
Was the splendor
Which allowed those winds
To move,
What promises could be made
And kept?


Author: Montana Svoboda

I'm a genderless poet currently living in Central Michigan where I attend college for Environmental Science and English. Nature's some cool shit, frisbee's a neat activity, fountain pens are best pens, Latakia for life, coffee and tea keep these gears turning.

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