Each poem’s a web that I hang (time-smoked adage
that swirls in the sky) and dream seasons rare eyes!
With no thought of entrapment or hope of ingesting,
rhyme longs more to bless you, verse whispers, “Hello.”
Heart’s a door I crack open, not yearning for new friends
(though some are OK), but in faith, where faults too
(my aired laundry),...
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