#vss365 #micropoetry . Direction of Travel

#vss365 #micropoetry . A Song For Apollo

#vss365 #micropoetry . Manentia

#vss365 #micropoetry . A Room Between Worlds

#vss365 #micropoetry . MINOR LITURGIES. In the old, overgrown chapel.open to the sky.a snail moves across the altar. There is so much patience.in the small things. The saints knew this. We have forgotten.

#vss365 #micropoetry . SIN OF OMISSION. Miss Pauline told the prayer circle.her news both bad and good:.her tumour was shaped like a dove. They wept and passed the casserole. The damn thing turned out to be benign,.but she said nothing,.and still got a casserole every week.

#vss365 #micropoetry . REARVIEW ELEGY. Desert night. Ashtray full. Radio cracking like bone. Tonopah getting closer. Somewhere on the road.behind me—.everything I ever meant.

#poetry #writersoftwitter #WritingCommunity . A Deal With God

#vss365 #micropoetry . LETTER FROM THE RUBBLE. Your sky, a torn silk flag in the evening,.crimson with trade winds and spilled wine. I spoke in the tongue of Virgil, and smoke.from burning Rome— but you did not listen, being marble.

#vss365 #micropoetry . THE VISITOR. In a dream.a woman made of light.stood in the soybean field.behind my childhood home,.watching the stars fall. When I asked her name,.she said:.Why would I need one?.

#vss365 #micropoetry . KANSAS 2000. I was driving at night.near Jetmore,.chasing the tail of a storm.and a girl I barely remembered.from a Polaroid.and something written.on a bar napkin. Moon over Kansas—.that’s what’s stayed with me. Flat as a busted tire,.just as.romantic.

#vss365 #micropoetry . FRAGMENT FROM A DIARY WITH NO DATES. […] again last night, and someone is singing in the basement. We do not have a basement.

#vss365 #micropoetry . IT DOES. There is a tree.at the edge of the wood,.older than language,.whose leaves fall.exactly when they must. You might sit beside it.for a hundred years,.and still not know.what it forgives. Only that it does.

#vss365 #micropoetry . UNSENT. I wrote you.a love letter once,.but burned it. The smoke rose beautifully,.like my feelings.before the words.got in the way.

#vss365 #micropoetry . WHERE THE VOICE WAS. The path home.curved past a hawthorn.split by lightning. I stopped—.not in fear,.but reverence. Something.had spoken there.

#vss365 #micropoetry . THE OLD GRIEF. In the forest I found.the ruin of a face. A chipped statue,.eyeless. No gaze, but somehow.I am seen. I flinched then—.as if old grief.had hardened.into marble.and waited in the trees.for me alone.

#vss365 #micropoetry . LINEAGE. As I age,.I look in the mirror.and see.my father’s mouth. Not his voice—.not exactly—.but the shape.of something.that longs.to say his prayers.

#vss365 #micropoetry . TITRATION. I’ve been hearing voices. My psychiatrist.smiled professionally .and upped the dosage. I’m grateful. Now the voices speak slower.and use better grammar.

#vss365 #micropoetry #poetry #WritingCommunity #writersoftwitter . Someone Else’s Friday

A RUINED CHURCH IN GARY, INDIANA. This used to be the nave. Flowers are growing.where people prayed.for miracles, mercies, .manageable misfortunes. A sparrow drinks rainwater.from the font. A single bee.circles the altar. Even now.something gives praise. Even now.it is heard.