POETRY

Impervious

May I unfold the next morning
& cast the right spell out of this mud
& bathe in tree-filtered light
& find my lonely tribe there
& meet the sun after the fire
& be impervious to divisive glare
& harness pink cloud after loss
& colour this reality out of its lines
& spill over and stem from my heart
& flit about in wild, eccentric shades

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