Tuesday, May 17, 2011

pigeons in winter

Tiny paper cuts

ruffled peony, forest

blooming while we sleep.

When the sky is low

and undecided still

I lift this heart

with its thousand paper cuts,

place it on a weathered sill.

My heart

with its knuckled ridges

and secret ravines

I am feeling glad

about the places

where severed edges meet

and do not close--

With the moonlight pouring through them

my heart becomes

a lantern,

Your words

blow through my hair

nibble at my neck

like pigeons in winter.

This poem was inspired by prompts: One Single Impression "exhibition, Sunday Scribblings "surrender", Carry on Tuesday "After all, tomorrow is another day" and Haiku Heights, "heal".