Paraffin

by November 27, 2020 0 comments

Early morning is the first paraffin
of the sun – white, clear like a headache;
It melts down the earth
and softens the grass
I am lost

Lying face down in the tender
furrows of my soft green pillows like
the furrows
in the grass, I am the end of this all

This is my home
I listen to
endless morning chants
of worms and millipedes

I am one of them in the morning,
hiding
for some more darkness

editors note:

Dust to dust is all just dust. Snuggle in. (We welcome Sekhar to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

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