Bind my wandering heart to [writing]

I am

I am

I am without a pen

I want to write

Begin again

Each day, the sun, half-born to maple

The bush a moss, my heart a ripple

To spread to knowledge far and sunken

Men’s beards, women’s hands, children call, young ones drunk and

When I am alone, in perfect eighty degrees,

My heart calls to words: bind my wandering heart to thee.

Published by celinamcmanus

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