she looks through her list of things
she doesn’t want people to know
feathers
stories untold

she is capable of what she’s willing to do

feathers flutter

~bw 22

She has no clarity.
Everyone lies to themselves.

Trying to change direction
she swallows moments

then burps.

~bw 22

in a language of unquestionable voice,
I hear the night break, the moon
toss back her hair. I hear the hum
of contentment shuddering in the grass
–Tiffany Midge “Night Caller”

Strong and remote we hold onto the void
spinning webs – fibrous orbs that
trace the patterns of stars over our eyes
in a language of unquestionable voice

of silky scribbled syllables that syncopate
like fingertips indiscriminately tapping
dropping sounds from rhythm until
I hear the night break the moon.

Luna hides her face in craters of cloud cover
unconsciously peeking through wispy dis-clarity.
Swelling tides respond with waves begging her to
toss back her hair. I hear the hum

of salvation bearing witness to its birth.
Tangled and tethered, her hair breaks through its
cloud-covered chrysalis illuminating a sweet yet unsettled feeling
of contentment shuddering in the grass.

~bw 22

Day 8: I repeated an earlier prompt for today. This is my second glossa from the prompt for day three. You can find my first glosa here. Both were from quatrains found in Tiffany Midge poems. This one is from a poem, Night Crawler, found in Midge’s book, The Woman Who Married a Bear.

Moist sacred breath
tendrils through dusk forests
vining secrets
to the moon.

~bw 22

Day Seven— Today’s prompt eluded me, so i resorted to my magnetic poetry set. I used an old tray my mother-in-law left us to guide the poem’s direction.