Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Lost, Katy Comber

by Katy Comber

There's a restlessness
in my bones
as I sway here, lost
to my surroundings
an urge to fight
windmills threads deep
in what I wonder of my soul,
spirit, fraction of a whole,
a vein of a needle about to shed
from a grand Muir tree

to hug
tsunami waves
seems easier
somehow than to
sit and calm this blur
of purposeful temporary-ness
while men fall
permanently at rest
without judge or jury
from cars and corners

I reach for my anchor
the one that pulls and binds me
to this world
to these fallen
sculptures molded by the same hand
and wrestle to understand
this restlessness

For now, I will name it
try to title it.
own it.
know it.
This is misplaced hope.


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