Friday, April 20, 2018

No Place

The gale sharpens its edge on the crags
As the night chill descends.
The unruly air carries exposed roots
And orphaned blades of grass,
Slamming them against cold rocks
And comatose boulders of sandstone.
It slices me twice under the eyes
As it speeds past me and back
against itself, like blind strength,
terrible freedom
with no place to go.

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