Cloudburst

Here at the border
of heaven and earth the plight
of angels forces
us into insight.
We've changed the issue, trouncing
all hope of fire, thanks
to crisis, the word
that we must depend on love
to weather. I hold
you, your black feathers,
then you touch my useless stubs.
There is no paved road.

‎December 1, ‎2013 12:22 PM

Offered on two sites:
As a Magpie Tale on The Mag 196
As a Wordle response on The Sunday Whirl