By Michael Lee Johnson
The first time I saw your face, cosmetic images, dust, dirt, determinationfell across your exiled face. Coal smoke lifted with your simple words and short poems.Your meaning drawn across a black board of past, rainbows, futurefragment, still in the shadows.Muhammad, Jesus twins, only one forms a halo alone.One screams love, drips candle wax, lights life, shakes, love.I encrust your history in the Ginkgo tree, deliverance.I wrap in the branches the whispers in your ears a new beginning.I am the landscape of your future walk soft peddle on green grass.I will take you there. I am your poet, your lead, freedom clouds move over then on.I review no spelling, grammar errors; I lick your envelope, finish, stamp place on.Down with age I may go, but I offer this set of angel wings I purchased at a thrift store.I release you in south wind, storms, and warm in spring, monarch butterflies.Your name scribbles in gold script.Night, mysteries, follow handle, your own.Image source – Pinterest
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