under drying skies, north,
passing fields
the summer has been too wet
to turn brown,
i wait for God
to appear, for poems to rise
like mists, for some sort
of ever
that doesn’t sting.
croon to me like a wild road,
sunlight spider-webbing
across a cracked windshield
across strange arms
across a morning we can all afford
to spend and live
and live.
the tenth muse 
Exquisitely delicate! I could live in joy forever with one who writes like this………..uh…..do you cook?! 🙂
lol not at all! 🙂
Beautiful Joanna and thoughtful- as ever!
Warm wishes,
Nicky
Thanks, Nicky! Really wish I could be there with you guys next month– thanks for the updates on all the excitement!
This was wonderful …
“i wait for God
to appear, for poems to rise
like mists, for some sort
of ever
that doesn’t sting.”
Mosk
Thanks, friend Mosk! Where are you writing these days? I cannot seem to find the link to the right site.
I should still be at ihatepoetry.blogspot.com. No?
that’s it. i get confused every time as your gravatar takes me to the WordPress site that you were using in 2013. thanks!