Glow

in a hand-held mirror

the space cowboy

finds an angel’s face

his narrow waist

a cactus squeezed for water

parched in dry season

he stilt-walks the night

a net high in the heavens

catching star splinters

bleaching his bones

in sky light

sanitizing leftover dreams

the rough sound of

metal scrubbers

scouring porcelain prayers

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The Sandpiper’s Spell, Ransom Poet Publishers

© 2018, Tom Pearson