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while there is time, before light returns to nothing - --listen-- the silence that arises following the wreck is our sound of goodbye we are both of us composed of calligraphies the other will never read © Sarah Whiteley

what the day contains

brown drifts of coffee grounds, and the tappings of the black-capped chickadee finding rhythm with the tick-ticking of spring rain on new-green locust leaves the passing hours mold the morning into the firmer lines of day, tracing the flights of fugitive birds - red hawk, wren, house finch, crow, ubiquitous dust-winged sparrow shadows lazily skate … Continue reading what the day contains

unraveling

it is a relief to not be raveled - but rather to be finely woven like a sweet grass basket, or pale roots that reach deep into the comforts of soil and loam in equal parts flourish and succor, I have discovered in us a landscape - an expanse of trust and generous sky and … Continue reading unraveling

autumn’s end

the bees have succumbed to drowsiness and the honeysuckle's dropped, replaced by the final asters bowing low in blue reverence of sky the river birches arch their yellow-graced necks over the pond where drifts of silver fish begin their quiet descent to barely being maples wait in flashing ranks, upturned and expectant of lowering skies … Continue reading autumn’s end

turned earth

I had determined (after the last) to no longer offer up the root of myself let it beat (I thought) for nothing other than to mark the time passing beneath my skin but then hands (so mercilessly capable) dug in and I am as earth freshly turned and raw and the root (remembering yearning) has … Continue reading turned earth

attraction

I am a bewilderment of limbs - a profusion of uncomfortable truths - and as a result, am ungainly beside you all twisted fingers and benumbed tongue but lit up inside by fireflies © Sarah Whiteley