Poetry and Poetics
Into cranes that fly
she folds her last angry letters.
Setting them free from the windowsill
she sees raindrops bite but not
harm their blue-scripted wings.
Only the words are hurt.
From the flooded gutter
she fishes buttons, some
from a school uniform, pink pearl
orphans. She does not know yet
what to make from these other
trophies of defiant weather.
© by Lightsey Darst
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