if ever

if ever again
i feel the winds
of white sheets flapping
i shall listen to seagulls
or to whomever come nearest
to their callings
i write deeper tonight
right shoulder turned
toward window
truths hovering over stars
long enough to gather them
hold them
lull them to sleep
beneath the sun

by mary ann blinkhorn

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genius

i magine him mounted on bicycle

riding a brisk timeline

privileged

self-paced

detached

miserable

trumpet at home in its case

many moons ago

there was only one sun

he blows into cupped hand

smells his breath

by mary ann blinkhorn