between the moons.

A new phase soon
I know is coming. . .

And, by then,
I hope
my body will be humming
and nowhere will I see those crows
who search park trash cans with their nose
to find the trove of treasures there
available for bumming.

And, unlike them,
I’d like to sing
a pretty song of offering,

and see whatever that may bring
to me and to my following,

when I do dare to be myself
and then let in
whichever wide array of things
that by my virtue and/or my fault,
or for no solid grounds at all,
will eventually be coming.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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