|
Freedom Cycles |
There's wind, but only
breath escapes the doldrums.
Crafted my pinwheel
turbines from basket-
weaving right hands strewn
together; tools to the aphids,
they sap the enamel and
know God's sickle well,
how he revolves the weed,
he resembles morning brume,
comes around like a roller chain
unhinged by its mainstays.
copyright 2016
Cody
Rukasin |
