It's Still Life

Where Heat Takes You

the air sits
stitched with thunder,
heat flat and still,

and I half-remember
my mother’s face,
young and
long ago,

gentle
as a rocking chair creaking.

Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.