His Name
His Name
I forget, sometimes
But the wind clings to his name
Drags it through the trees
And on summer days
It battles with the sun
For a place in my ear
Each syllable stinging my ear drum
Into a child-like shrink
And it nestles in the bronze heights
On the edge of September
Only to fall
Consonants crunch beneath my feet
My heart falls to my wrists
Where it pounds desperately against my skin
I pull at my sleeves
Hold them tight in my fists
And wade through the bronze ocean
Copyright © Gracie Bawden | Year Posted 2011
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