by Connie Fife
I have learnt that love
translated by any
means is worth the
motion of movement.
Turned into any words,
love emerges whole.
I am certain the simplicity
of creation becomes a
fire ignited. That implosion
leads to the beginnings of
stars, galaxies.
Air on tongue.
New words scattered amongst
the constellation of one's self
the birthing of another life.
The letting go of comet, trail
blazing behind.
The blue black of velvet
crow wing breathing in ear.
Copyright ©:
Connie Fife
Last updated December 19, 2022