“Refuge”

by A_F_R_O_W

Words.

My refuge.

The soil,

into which, my Soul

takes root.

The silt,

of editorial deposits.

The space,

where

clapping rhythms

rattle, against

my chattering teeth,

through the gateway,

of my mouth.

The only place,

my Li-

fe,

can be hyphenated,

surrounded,

by split infinitives,

and, yet,

like, my Heart,

remain,

unbroken.

Syntax,

to transport

me somewhere,

always, meets me,

where I am.

A backpack,

of emboldened prose,

bookended,

by blank verse,

nominates,

my, pending, imagination,

to nurse sentences,

which come,

in dialects,

of Love.

These gifts,

fit every need,

like,

an enchanted slipper,

or,

silken glove.

One moment,

spent,

amongst their company,

and,

my, laden, Spirit,

forever,

lifts.

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©A_F_R_O_W2021.

All Rights Reserved.