window wept–reblogged poem

I wonder–what is the equivalence of the window’s glass?  Apologies to Grumpy for getting carried away and adding one of my own photos.

hands in the garden

window 1haunted hand seeks
weeping window

cool greets
clammy palm

beading bulbs of
plaintive tears,

inches from
aching inside
calm

drained from hate
to sedate-
relative to depth
of stab of
pain

known controlled chaos
of such severe
storms

lived in leaky eye
of one, since
hope’s heart was
born.

©Anthony Gorman 2018

image: pixabay

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About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 82 now.
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