Mother paints clouds
across the sky: montage
of wet spirits
who can’t say, “Goodbye.”
Drift with me
to the ground
let your soul rest
for now.
Rise from the soil,
a pyre
set ablaze
burn with the sun
let it carry you…
away.
Writer for
Essays and poetry on life, nature, and creativity. Author of The Lady Next Door. Website: jeffreypillow.com