Back - Poem by Morgan Michaels
Back to the skies
whose broad stripes and bright stars
and kohled pharaoh's eyes
rub off between the fingertips and thighs.
Bonnie April is over
and mid-summer's bonfires;
the vineyard's furrow now
is filled up with snow
or snow's white imminence.
And that life you leased
wide-winged, sipping flower
after flower, burnt to ashes now;
not to be bitter or sour,
there is a space for you
there, in heaven's fair face-
a minimal gape for you to fill,
a missing puzzle piece
the wide sky needs filled to be complete.
Fly, o butterfly, the time is ripe.
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