Drifting
my face
my eyes
swoop from
the
sky
as the pigeon
with orange lids
pecks at crumbs
on cement.
my face
is alive,
at all
time
it speaks,
limbs move,
fingers stretch
can you see
my face and
on into
time?
Or do you
just see page,
no words
rise into air,
become a single
destiny.
burn with flames,
grow with eternity.
my oh
my
all come inside.
Inside the rose
the pedals
will keep us warm
Copyright © Frank Guglietta | Year Posted 2013
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