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My Exile

Wasn’t I the one that made you think of lavender and earl grey?
The one that sought to see you through every day, every gray
cloud that caused a hue of blue in your green eyes, I captured.
With wild palms I caught rainbows in what you deemed fractured.
Now I sit by Colorado river ways braiding Russian Sage into bracelets.
Your absence/presence surges like the water pushing through rocky inlets.
I crave for your waters to erode away the granite solidifying my soul.
My exile, our landscape is old.

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Comments


  • Kastor
    September 28

    Edit | Reply
    Yes



    You make such pretty things but so seldomly now.

  • kamulneix
    September 28

    Edit | Reply

    EXCELLENT

    I am amazed at how this poem so hits my situation on the head. "I crave for your waters to erode away the granite solidifying my soul". It"s as if you had read my mine.