We live.


Air settles,

wing-like on the shadowed glow,

listening to our breaths above

the distant world.


As those half open-eyed hours


soft indents

in the stretched out blue,

drawing it out over warm skin,


we are buried.

Beneath duck-down quilts, sheltering

our reckless innocence from the Earth’s

slow revolve,


we live.

© grace.b 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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Like this a lot, hope you will post more.

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