Poem inspired by Dearly by Margaret Atwood
Little dust messenger (the xylophone of spine) how rusted shut I am, therefore I praise vacancy. Let there be plot in the high palace of words with their minds full of nothing but flame-- setting marshmallows on fire on purpose. Our feastfires have faded to candles in winter snow, after a funeral. When the gods frown peach clouds fade to slate, feet have their own agendas; the best ones grow in shadow.