they woke entangled in
pale light over pine and church.
dew lingering on her lips,
and scripture clinging
on clergy tongues.
The world is full of short sunrises and quick loving, but what will you do when dreams poke through like weeds …
this fragile air,
cloudless as generosity.
and they soared over their weeds,
and inherited wings.
Over the town, 1918 by Chagall. Fair Use/Public Domain USA. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter