Hey, shadowshifter,
Could you use this?
An offering,
Ink-stained hands,
Pages left
In the rain.

There is never enough.

A shield,
The driving darkness —
Send them off, now.
Release them
And ride on.

Words fall
In dissonant phrases,
These untuned strings.
Only hindsight
Can unravel
The message.

And too late,
Too late.

Every day,
Another fallen feather,
Stars and moonshine
On the rocks.
I am not stumbling now.

And an inch is enough.
And a minute is enough.
And a glimpse is enough
For the finding.

So a season
Of 100 miles
Might bring this back.
And if I forget
To count,
To measure,
And unfocused let them pass
Or fall,
My unknown friend,
Maybe that is all it takes
To make it real.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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