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| Blogs > Mariana_Trench_ > poetic disambiguation |
Hester Prynne
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Hester Prynne dream-stricken hands flutter, in the buried half-alive wind my hair pushed back, wavering, in the nightmare wind deep in my skin, longing for you, in the gregarious wind glass cracked spontaneously broken shards of the distraught season of this marshy glean white embers of utterances My wind whispers of poplar trees bending To dance with grey-black chestnuts, My wind... Moans past the riverbanks, past pines who Cast shadows taller than the rooftops of our village, and at last, laughing, kisses the Mountain Laurel shrubs as they cascade over lichen-dabbled granite, My wind is running downhill, Efficiently... briskly... Out of breath, My wind reaches the hush of the seas. Now - Drying up the sands, but patient, She sits with the Plover and the yellowing grasses, Yes, for you stilled my wind, and I leery-souled, wait for you Stillness, the wind has left fossilized fish salt diamonds like me, withdrawn from life - still it leaves the trace of a taste on the tongue Now I remember the lace of breaths’ embroidered mingling, The day we crocheted a pearl Design upon January glass whole lifetimes blister and are laid full bare These frayed threads, Riding the pane Snow-blossoms bloom with a small crushing ting. Listen. There is no wind, you can hear their crystal voices.       |
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Thanks. I am hoping in a month things will be all better. I have a medical procedure coming up to fix part of this, and another MRI to check on my liver for the other part. You are sweet! XOXOXOX E/MT
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