Poet's Pen Strokes

morgueFile

She was born

with a bottle

of blue darkness

inside her.

When the light

cracks

the glass,

shafts of light

splintering

the container,

the darkness

spreads

inky arms,

stretching through,

reaching out/into

everything

she is, she's been, has yet to see

and exits

on pages

needing both dark and light

to come

to be.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

Sideways

Toril “Smells Like Rain”

Winter moans elsewhere ---but here

within me,

yesterdays roam,

panicky.

Like spring rain. Staccato.

My poems are wet ash.

My skin, sand through hourglass.

I make

for shelter,

a grain too late---

caught

in clouds of least favorable reflection.

And though I'm determined to at least pace them,

I know

I can never outrun

the rain.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Art with Toril.