Death’s weir from the mammoth faces we know,
spuming dead ghosts into the sea.
My mistress winter feasts her bones, to starve on the tongues of a storm;
lips of Janus will part like Eve to the python’s words; o’ then in innocence who else if then would have a rib torn to kill
Loneliness, the rogue
Beet-blood, greeting you
in a face of all faces
enter, not dressed in the thunder of the storm—where the creel slips away from the fool.
Perhaps I only see the drunkening of a moment rather than its reason.
He should have carried it with two hands.
humility is so sweet.
Tempest in its lines of accusation, it nurses a sky to never become. We come to appreciate the anointed poisons, the thunder-strokes of the breast.
Perhaps I see an ocean waning in madness,
seeking serenade. He should have carried it with two hands.
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Written for the dVerse prompt: This week, I would like you to write about a time when you last watched stars, a storm, the sea, an animal, or something else in nature that left you with a sense of wonder or awe. Aim to write no more than three tight paragraphs, followed by a traditional haiku that includes reference to a season.