Fragmented speeches, flashes of faces;

bits and pieces, scattered traces;

pauses to consider a slant of light, 

the bend of limbs in a leafless tree,

a morning song of a lonely thrush, 

the final brilliance of a setting sun —

all forms of poetry—

sighs, stutters, whisperings;

running breathlessly,

rest and rapid spurts,

laughter, tears, seasons of anger;  

crude understanding 

and profound epiphanies;

morning… noon… night…, 

waiting and taking flight,

solitary silence amid the thunderous crowd,

hunger and fullness, need and want,

concern and apathy,

open palms and fisticuffs;

a gentle harmony like spring rain,

and the harsh dissonance of jealousy,  

a bitter root and a new bloom,

stalwart faith and stifling mistrust,

sweet newborns and the wizened gray,

a full measure of love and an empty cup;

a story of humanity…

yours… mine…

the stuff of us.

C.L. Fisher, June 2020

Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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