Prose Poetry
trust
a dog. a fox. and a human.
what does one do when in the presence of an untamed. feral nature’s proffered company. the crows on secret-service duty. magpie vigilante
stepping paupers’ corpses under raven claw and foot. for here we sit
within this tempest of a city. rarely silenced. grass. a dance of pretty
daisy faces. heads of startled buttercups. above the purple of a clover’s wishful thought. a dream so full of longings hearts leap beside them
-selves. as if the little prince has walked from out the pages of a well
turned book. we three. the dog with me. and one grey-stroked fox.
the clocks of dandelions numberless. all having slowed unto a time
filled stop. and trust. the most enviable of all requirements.
Sally A Mortemore ©2024 — All rights reserved
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