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 Jan 2018
ryn
To forget what sand had stirred
in the dark of night.

To empty the dregs left stagnant
of yesterday’s wine.

To see as though through lenses
brand new.

To discard the tethers that had
bound us tight, skin to spine.
 Jan 2018
r
I raise my glass
to you, dear woman
across the horizon
out where the water rises;
here's to all the years
I've spent waiting,
to all the miles I made
myself across, a life
spent wandering in haste,
wondering just how
your salt would taste.
 Jan 2018
rained-on parade
When his hands dance in the night,
the moon quiets down to sleep.
Maybe he's awake at this hour again,
who knows what the day will bring.
I'm in love with the absence of hurting;
like this; my shins splitting with dancing
so much with my own insecurities.
9/2017
My heart it beats through lonely days
my head it heeds no warning
For I have loved you many ways
from dusk til waking morning.
The clock it marks my numbered days
each tick a token tear
My heart is held within your gaze
Why don't you see me here?
 Jan 2018
Yata bionaka
Its a deep type of dark.
Pitch black on the edges
and darker
somewhat spirally and almost
almost stroboscopically grows
darker as it quickens
into the middle.
It's a slow type of dark.
So slow it seems to be motionless
as though movement forms before and after it.
It's a quiet type of dark.
So quiet it seems to hum in the ear.
So quiet it could be termed
dark silence?
So silent it scares.
As though there is a whisper
not heard through the ears
but felt
in the heart.
the weight of seven
hummingbirds -- 21 grams --
is what leaves the body
after death

on that hummingbird breath
the soul leaves
a wispering whisper
of seven tiny, winged cavatinas

being sung back
and singing themselves
forward
into the chorus

to enter again
a melody -- in
the Eye Of God

shimmering
iridescent
wings beating
the rhythm of Love



c. 2018 Roberta Compton Rainwater
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