Bonnie Carico

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That Voice
I hear him calling,
His voice in cadence
Rising, falling...
Blessing the loaves to feed
Morning Promises
The astral heavens are dimming out,
Stars fleeing space and free...
The ebb tide following hard
The crescenda of the sea.
Wandering Sage
Lapped in spring's maternal tenderness,
The lenitive touch of heaven nigh,
Thawing ripples attune their breakup.
To the ardor of a far-flung sky.


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6/24/2021 4:53:26 PM #