poetry

fault lines

It doesn’t take a cosmic seismologist...

    Not all my own:

                  So less so
            I wrote a song ’bout it.
      I’d’ve penned a sonnet…

            Yet, I’m not Else’s
          Father, just yours alone;
        And I’d want it

                    Be this better way!
              Who’s to say
        If you’ll far-off ‘member

    Your dad’s a November
        Baby? Important, maybe,
            To the astrologist,

                  Though it doesn’t take
            A cosmic seismologist
      To read the quake

‘Neathe my fault-line fuss
      O’er you.
          Miss you? Yes.

                Love you?
          E’en by a tress,
    It’s as true a truss

            O’er any home,
          ‘Bove what marble-worlds,
        ‘Twixt dare-find-me stars

    Not yet our own.


—for reagyn

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