Walking with My Camera: Cast on the November Sky


The nest is torn―wings in the mud―

I must believe the promise will continue

A tremble meets the air, passes between us

the wounds of blooded life

where in some distance―joys also leap of heart

between the scrape and tumble

Cottonwood branches cast on the November Sky―

what I can not know to find my hope strewn and full and awake in just that breath