Native

My tears rush into rivers.
My breath makes the wind.
My mind, my hope, my soul,
They make me real.
An echo in my mind, a thought,
Says that my eye is the sun,
The other is the moon.
For they shine, so I may see.
My warm flesh breathes like fire.
My tears fall like the rain.

by Andy Purdy the Graven

Other poems of ANDY PURDY THE GRAVEN (4)

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