Scribe
Published in

Scribe

There Is Always Summer

Photo by Mishal Ibrahim on Unsplash

it is a lonely spirit, isn’t it?

moss-drunk
swamp-sunk
gathering

you were the heft of pool
beneath its gravity —
sucked into a stomach of
sky

I lost you there
in the undercurrents
but you had laid
yourself down like a
grave

you told me
melancholy paints
a violent
dawn

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RH

RH

nocturnal poet, daytime biologist