Speaking In Tongues

I try to find a heaven in my dreams,
some cloudy place where you are. 

How can it still be morning, when
I have been out here for so long?   

I am in a house I have come back to. 
Something is missing or broken. 

Looking everywhere, looking everywhere,
I am caught in a thickness of fear.

I make a nest in my hands of torn
cloth, and a bird settles into it. 

Snow falls from a bright sky, as if the moon
were shedding ashes of its own crisp light.

I want to talk with you one more time. 
If there was bitterness, it’s gone now.

   
 

Comments

[Rick Rhodes]

Is Sharon Brogan the author of these poems? And where do I find info about her.

[SB]

You can find info about me here.