Drilling the Pips
Silent mountains and hills live
Inside minds
Waiting for echoed laughter.
Costumed links in dreams appear
In ashes
Spread by secret languages.
Interstate grief grows deep and
Always this-
Emerald breath, loving left.
2 thoughts on "Drilling the Pips"
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nice to see a poet deeply at home in the abstract, the surreal; it was a pleasure to read.
Thank you so much! I appreciate you reading my poem!