On
a rainy day as we have today,
a
grey pall of moisture-laden air
the
sky dark
cries
the
winds blow around the block
the
movements of thought we create
all
day whistle
harsh
no
answer found within the lines
waxen
and solemnly invisible
words
and
so the dove flies back to its Arch
as
do light-mantled sooties return
to
their nests
beyond
hugging
the cliff face not wrecked
but
calm before the precipice
and
then swing back
to
the stillness
--of
my heart!
--eva-maria
hogrefe
(October
2012)
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