#1
it's five a.m and i think
i was almost alive today;
watched a woman plant
a seed, fingers gently
prodding the earth

                        (i take another
                         drink,

                         spinning.)

and there was the rain,
cleansing the concrete
of the month's grime and 
dust- buried deeply in its 
tired and aching pores

                        (i take another
                         drink,

                         spinning.)

i stumble, body weighed 
down with its own 
treasure trove of ghosts.
uncertainty. knees scraped and
bleeding like memories

                        (i pick
                         myself back up,
                         
                         spinning.)

i'll always remember your
laugh that could turn
me into the sun 
and mountain-plaited
rivers;


i'll always 
remember the
Artesian woman in
her garden-
singing,                  spinning.
Last edited by Dregen at Jan 7, 2017,
#2
Wow! a wonderful piece of writing. Fresh metaphors/simile: "...memories", "..pores", "..ghosts". A dash of magic: "turn me into the sun...". A bit of mystery "..almost alive today". I love it.