Sum
       

Within the wind are small channels
capillaries the birds ride bank as blood
before the tricuspid
A storm is like a huge lung breathing
and arranging its force numbers
Sleep waits in a small bag counting on you
Memory a frayed cinch string floating behind
Everything is hyphens and equals:
The nines live in the waves offshore
Threes in the heavens
Fives in the last hand waving
Zero is the ghost

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Copyright © 2021 Allan Peterson All rights reserved
from This Luminous
Panhandler Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission