Cynthis Mac Pherson

From the edge

I search for ways
to tell the secrets I only guess
to write the pale faces that peep at me from the edge

I search the night
through the darkness of curtains drawn on my truth
like golden curls framing my bloodied eye

I fall into thin air
the ends of my hair vibrate
my toes root through earth

my tongue reaches for fresh water
my body listens for the music

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