first a sense of elation

quiet like wind from long miles away

stirring grass to hear its whispers

then the body dissolves

but the eyes are left behind

because the wasteland demands to be seen

and so it must whisper to us

like a desperate lover

must tell us what to do

that it might be born

where our bones lie in fitful rest

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Check out some poetry from Denver’s local poets at thepoets.co

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Photo by Joshua Woroniecki on Unsplash