Scotch Pine and Pogonip After Cockcrow:

 
How do I carry the words of God without knowing the language of love? Many times I have measured the meaning of my being and I have not known the name of my own heart. The arching echo of madness is the spinning coin that falls without a call to land. But, I hear the decaying whisper of my younger years more than I thought I would. Now I am coiled in an undiscovered effort to save my own body. I find myself waiting for Him to arrive, but the calloused marrow of clouds that hover over jasmine and white lilac is turning into a tureen of red flags. A burning fog hugs the dawn, and the soon-to-be Spring strays away from the aching Winter. I know I am too far from the leaving leaves of my own dispatched downfall. I long for the twinge of this mysterious life to be over. Until then, and as always, I will continue to conjugate my days as if I am the verb to be.
 
©️Winter Dawn Burns