September’s sun
wanes, slanted,
weakened,
leaving morning dew longer,
lingering to reveal the spider
deep in her lacy funnel
lined by luminous prismed drops
as countless as her eyes.
I walk to pick the morning’s herbs
and see the shining threaded webs
woven among the sorrel,
the bent bladed grass.
I step carefully.
How many times have I wrecked
something beautiful
without knowing?
-Patricia Thrushart
https://www.facebook.com/patriciathrushart/
Dark Horse brings Poets and Artists together to further encourage Poetry and the Arts in the Appalachian region (and beyond) and to support Coal River Mountain Watch. For electronic publication information contact studioappal@gmail.com
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
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See You Tomorrow
The body ages and my hope is so the heart and soul ferment existence into an elixir only ageing can possess. Something to do about the ...
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September’s sun wanes, slanted, weakened, leaving morning dew longer, lingering to reveal the spider deep in her lacy funnel lined by lumin...
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It is the gloaming in steady rain striking the windshield, windows, that metallic sound of rain hitting the car’s roof, fog rising i...
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