“Poetry is like that old couch. Beaten and beautiful.”

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life 1 min read 492 views Jun 25, 2015

Arrival

Black mountains lie between now and to be 

A valley, thriving, bright in its diversity, courses a path.

Our hands wisp over sunflowers and lilac, legs are tickled by grasshoppers.

The monarchs graze our necks.

When we arrive, we will know.

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