The Bowed Head (Poetry)

I fear sadness now,
knowing what it can do,

turn my head away from it,
bow my eyes in the face of it,
at my edges it pecks,
but I am covered in layers of tissue,
ice on the edge, and yet, yet,
at the right moment,
in the right breath
with the right sort of eye,

I am soft enough to tear apart,
my face already breaking,

look how lovely the mornings are,
the way the clouds break the light

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