Poetry – Bottom Falling

Bottom, Falling Through that window you see another bird rising, unlabeled, unwanted, yet noticed. A limb’s last leaf. The boy’s breath. Like the morning after your father died, when temperature didn’t register and heat shallowed through the morning’s end. Still you shivered. Glass. Wind. Night’s body. How to calibrate nothing’s grace? Take notes. Trace […]

via Bottom Falling — O at the Edges

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