Monday, August 8, 2016

Kremlin Square

Jesse S. Mitchell

All boxed up, Kremlin square.  Every single word was there
Any utterance at all, everything you could consider,
And they twirled together  (here and there)
Like temple bells and fog and feathers
(and spider webs caught in hair)
And we moved through them thick, like newborn gusts

But we were breaths not yet possessed.             

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