Love and the Unsung Hero
Dru Parrish
From the points of index
one can bridge the chasms
between gestures and constellations.
Trace the stars around
harsh lines. Breathe into beauty
with red hair; girls in white
set against darkness in the night.
The one who speaks to me, speak to me.
Swirl hands in red. They come and go
the girls who talk of nothing; nothing and Michelangelo.
My hand drops drawing chasms
together. If to me. Asterisk to eye…and me
I endeavor to be still; let them speak to me;
speak to me…and once.
Cicada’s sing the muse,
summer song sweetly sung:
love and the unsung hero.
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