This world is a heart
fed from the nuzzle of a mother’s breast.
Its murmur is a father’s gentle song,
one whose arms reach out before a fallen
tear can bury itself in the sand.
Its arteries are our highways, as
opaque as they are to the earth beneath,
without them, are we not pigeons without wings,
moths without a moon?
The blood is love. But blood isn’t love.
No, if we take in one as our own,
it does the same. The world took us in
so long ago.
Join us at dVerse Poets Pub as we imagine our own world.
The sky’s the limit..or is it? It’s my pleasure to be hosting this week’s Poetics.
Doors open at 3 p.m.