poem twenty two: percussion

her toes draw patterns
through the dirt, dust
kicked up by a dry-land
wave of her skirt keeps
time with six hundred
years of heartbeats

stop
start
stop

it’s spiral, a cycle
she lives in the future
dances the past, threads
them through the needle-
eye present with transmissions
to her blood from dying stars

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2 thoughts on “poem twenty two: percussion

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