The Lie
The Lie Brisk day dog scenting the air Winter, not too cold damp leaves grounded on the sidewalk make no sound the random house finch calls, then hushes, aware Don’t fear, no threat, I whisper, want it to be true the lie gripping my throat, eight billion of my kind swallowing the land
Beautiful. I felt this one.
Bowing to you, appreciating your giving words to what is often unspeakable.