Clumsy dreams rattle her blood
crossing the land, turning to sand
like ground glass glittering through infinity’s curves.

Winter won’t listen to the sound of her name,
and shattering axes cleave dreams that vanish in vain.

Lost sky settles over a desert oasis set against stone,
where lodge pole pine trees rub their moan.

Brenda Warren 2014

Visit The Sunday Whirl

Visit The Sunday Whirl

18 thoughts on “regret

  1. Such a seemingly easy way of putting the words together, though I know it must have taken a lot of effort! Wonderful!


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