A Thousand Years
You're an ancestor
from a Spanish shore,
your blood thick with it,
a wanderer,
in the Jersey woods,
you're piece of granite,
your bad boy side
glinting in the sun,
a small slice of hell,
revealed when you blink your
thick eyelashes
at anything that passes,
just to call it
"healing,"
panting like a mad dog through rosy
winter cheeks,
that wild, thirsty,
thousand year old pain,
circling back to the very spot
where love and hate
push the sea saw hard as a rogue nail,
chanting,
chanting,
pain, love.....
bursting into the wind.
Copyright © Kathryn Sweeney | Year Posted 2023
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