4/12/16

by Ben Pickard

"I dance upon chords
of perfect harmony,
making love to the wind.
And so, beneath magnolia skies
and on emerald fields,
my tired heart tries so hard
to keep pace with yours -
yours, whose rivers run red
with the kind of apocalyptic
certainty that will squeeze my
love into the very oblivion
from which it came."

--

Ben Pickard