BREATHING GRAY

 

 

 

 

He came from no place good;

unpaved roads lick his

dusty feet.

Magnolias fold at his passing,

mourning his loss and without.

 

There are no warnings within him.

No trappings snare his feet.

His words are swollen streams,

turning violent winds into jazz,

soaking faces with song.

 

He’s been where black starts.

Breathing gray, speaking dark.

 

 

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