Outdoors, Poetry

Defenestration

Find tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

– William Shakespeare, As You Like It

At the upper lip
of a gilded wall the world slips
open beneath the half-lifted arm
of a woman whose locks trace
cirrus cloud and azure
day. Out there, the ancients whisper
fingertips against your
seeking arm and warm
forgotten skin like a shaft of light
showing you the way
to where the wakening occurs
despite haze cloaking sun,
miles to cover
and a capricious chill
at your unsheathed neck.
 

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