everything in miniature
i am nature blown small
the wind blows
i sigh
the trees bend
i lean
the earth quakes
i crack
channeled throughout with warm waters
tributaries of blood
ebb and flow in pulsing tide
on the spinning earth
my toes dig for purchase
running the surface
we lonely seek where we belong
how can we be alone
belonging anywhere we seek?
Fresh Hell 
This is a wonderful poem!
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Beautifully vivid imagery! Great to see you again 🙂
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Thank you Tom! 🙂
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Yep! Add this one to the packet you’re preparing to send to publishers.
I posted a poem of sorts yesterday that speaks of wind and trees, but unlike yours, it willfully violates the old “art and polemics don’t mix” criticism.
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Come now Annie. If you can mix art and polemics like that, you can shamelessly post links on my blog too.
https://annieasksyou.com/2020/01/30/something-there-is/
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