
Under
the full moon, everything becomes clear.
Shoe, shirt, leg, and arm diffuse
to weight, breathe, stride, embrace.
Light slides under shadow, and only
intent is visible.
The rest is camouflage.
A place for writers to find refuge when doubt and rejection have trapped them in the underworld. Writing and works in progress by Mary, as well as some photos of travels.
2 comments:
The thought behind this brief poem is that when "things" become "clear" they disappear and the essence is all that is left.
You're writing is sometimes lovely.
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