Friday 10 April 2015

Finding Others

I was to find others,
My charred remains
were to finance
charcoal murals.

I tried to unbecome,
but was lonely winds,
angry razors storming
surprised monks.

And then I was daffodils,
waiting cogent poets,
that my sea finds home,
in gentler hearts.

For all the fury of
one overflowing heart,
my hands are still hers:
I have touched nothing.


Image Source: Nicola Samorì

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