By Linda Russo

 

In those words are windows of o’s

Through which the heart flows

 

Tender hearts, open those o’s

Don’t overthink, don’t worry, be sensitive

Uncurl those edges to touch

The edge of thought, its ruffle

Or fray or tears (as in rips) or tears (as in drops)

Touch and mingle

 

What stays for a while

And is a while

Feels whiley

In the space for embrace—

Through the os the portals:

Words, memories, emotions, slants

 

Out the window the same tree nods

In the late winds and the turbid sleeps

That wait for spring

 

In the silence of writing we agree

We see time in its branches

And beyond to the blue sky that is pale right now

 

So pale

 

 

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