Saturday, December 26, 2015

3pm sunbeams, palms, winter wind

Some days my soul is windy,
blowing the dying leaves
off my aging bones.
My heart aches,
but it's winter pains —
nothing a little spring won't cure.
Sometimes a dandelion blows my way
from a neighboring soul
and makes me wonder —
what of mine drifts through life
to strangers or kin
going through their own
inclement weather?
If the clouds blow away
and the skies become blue again
and the sun gets a little too harsh
and my hair instead turns gray,
would I yearn for another storm?
And should I be thankful for clothes
to protect my naked body
or has too much protection
prevented me from the full potential
of my skittish and unclothed mind?

—Terri Guillemets

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