Poetry suspends time. Poetry is time.
Poetry give us time.
A story or a poem is a like a living body;
we need only tell the few, precise pulse
points to feel the heart of it leaping in its
skin. Those details are the flares in the desert,
a signal from a boat mid-ocean,
the cry of the abandoned,
the ones caught in a trap must be freed.
To rescue, to name what must not be forgotten.
Sunday evening. Winter morning.
November dusk.
We belong where love finds us.
Featuring  @inkawilliams

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