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Diane Woodward Dorff Poem
I travel far beneath Montana skies,
The road a dull reflection of the sky above.
Transcendent highways overhead,
No road signs to stop the heart from wandering,
Full of starry questions
and answers yet before they’re asked.
Beginnings after endings.
Quantum entanglement of fiery paths of stars
with cars speeding on below the splintering streak of night.
The lives of stars abide no more alone
than our twisting paths of living.
Everything our hearts can know
may happen in the homeland of the stars
sparking forward to their beginnings.
Copyright © Diane Woodward Dorff | Year Posted 2017
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Diane Woodward Dorff Poem
air
cooling
like a drink with
a single ice cube
like a stalk of lavender
bathed in
the bitter wind
its vegetable mind
suddenly
remembering winter
stony cliffs
stand upright
precipitous
steep
layers of earth
of rock
waters at the rocky edge
slide toward the brink
and pause
and plunge
over
and over
in a deluge of
liquid voices
as the flood
rushes over
the rocky wall
plummeting downward
white with bubbles
iron of the earth
glowing through the waters
yellow strands among the white
braided in the rushing waters
citrine
my soul’s depths
flooded in amber
drenched in the roar
of rushing water
the gushing water
plunges into
the St. Lawrence River
and becomes a fog
a cloud
a mist
I am the mist
Copyright © Diane Woodward Dorff | Year Posted 2017
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Diane Woodward Dorff Poem
Again I dreamed of being in Paris last night.
I could not see me,
but I could see the city,
unchanged.
All the stone walls and
gray white stone of heavy buildings
that rose long ago
from the minds of builders
and the quarries of stone.
Again I looked for a telephone.
I wanted to call for someone
I knew long ago.
Call to warn them that
things can happen.
Even in Paris.
Copyright © Diane Woodward Dorff | Year Posted 2017
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Diane Woodward Dorff Poem
tiny weight of grandma’s parakeet
on my finger
spider leg toes
bones enclosed in skin
the curved pins the claws
that grip my finger
balancing its wiry weight
of beak and wings
the feathered fan of tail
compacted
pulling downward
balances the body full of webs of bones
like veins inside my eye
delicate bones
like grandma herself
thin and fragile
with holy hair
thick and white
it fans like feathers
in my dreams
Copyright © Diane Woodward Dorff | Year Posted 2019
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