Red. Yellow. Green. Hint of blush and falling leaf,
Necessary as bread, sweetness of life lived
Out of time and in the stolen, hidden moments
We forget even as we breathe them in. Red.
Yellow. Green. You see them from a distance
In the orchards between farmhouses, bruised
In the stiffening grass, marked by months
On limbs, marked by limbs branched over secrets
The seasons tell. Hard to hold, skin a sheen
Of untouching, one’s own skin aged in comparison. Continue reading “Enter Reaching”
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry
Poetry of the People
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry 