In My Grasp
bottom of a bowel
of jagged rocks
slender bristling pines
ring a ragged sky
through which slips
slivers of warmth
hugging me like a child
on this crisp morning
life on the line
wiggling wriggling
jumping
splashing, flashing
slippery, cold, and firm
in my grasp
Copyright © Steven Young | Year Posted 2022
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