365 Days of Poetry: Day Two-Hundred and Eighty-Five

a moon, a life.
obscured by clouds.
hard to see.
to dream.
and where is love.
in all of this.
such an ephemeral thing.
alone I try to sort the ties.
all come up red.
spinning here there are no wings.
not much can be said.


About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

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