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Seeds Crying Out |
A tide pool of time
or perhaps, as there were women
naked as the night, its thought,
but no, no,
a dreamscape floating,
fondling light, garden branches
sky’s escape to trees,
bushes, bundled bursts
of fruit sunning, simmering
the Georgia breeze, its flight;
the seeds crying out for flesh to flesh,
for morning’s rush
toward hunger’s hope for tongue,
for taste, for bounty’s bright
and bold embrace.
copyright 2017
Marjorie R
Becker |
