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Michael T Smith's avatar

On a hillside, in a home shaped by these hands

Coyotes call and the wind rattles tin

The dog’s soft snore, air moving through ducts

Moonlight slips through parted blinds

Coyotes call and the wind rattles tin

Her body turns slowly in dream, my son’s floors creak

Moonlight slips through parted blinds

Time is like a slingshot between wakings

Her body turns slowly in dream, my son’s floors creak

My heart knocks, twisted back

Time is like a slingshot between wakings

Will I live it right?

My heart knocks, twisted back

The dog’s soft snore, air moving through ducts

Will I live it right

On a hillside, in a home shaped by these hands?

David Brickey Bloomer's avatar

I’m ashamed, living in Singapore, that I don’t even know this form. I try to make up for that:

oh, peace prize.

of blood, money, power & oil.

laurels laid on quiet graves.

a medal rinsed in sanctioned fire.

of blood, money, power & oil.

they call it history, shaking hands.

a medal rinsed in sanctioned fire.

the cameras blink, the ledgers smile.

they call it history, shaking hands.

children count the nights by drones.

the cameras blink, the ledgers smile.

silence learns its accolades.

children count the nights by drones.

laurels laid on quiet graves.

silence learns its accolades.

oh, peace prize.

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