}} exitlude |

Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










exitlude

exitlude for single voice

My wrists tickle
in the grass,

whole hands sunk into
the earth:
I am waiting to grow.

Half of my bones:
panpipes in the wind.

The rest do
not speak,

rather wonder
how they might

bloom for
it has been a hard

winter.
To the north,

I send my
wishes like

thrown
stone
birds

← Divya M. Persaud