The secret life
of Zephyr Grace
swirled around an empty place,
a muddy mire lapped and swelled against her rolled up pants.
A posthumous fortune foretold
of fortunes hidden in dried up plastic.
Zephyr twirled a ballet run, and lived her secrets unaware.
She appeared through trees long since bare and laughed the leaves to flutter.
She danced and weaved with each drifting leaf below a setting sun, but little did poor Zephyr
know her time had almost run. The sand had dropped; the last grain remained
floating in a nexus, and the moment that she saw the light diminish in the distance,
her body dropped down with it.
She only had so much time to write a past much more fitting, to fix and mend all the torn up
shreds in a life that wasn’t within her.
Now every autumn through the old bare trees you can hear that laugh carried on the brisk
evening breaze, hollow, chill, and biting. You can see her dance and weave
with each falling leaf in a fog that dissipates,
and along with it, the life of Zephyr Grace
YOU ARE READING
Confusion in Underground Clouds
PoetryThis is a collection of assorted poems, detailing one consciousness extending and swirling into another, and another, and another.
