Welcome to Woodsy’s poetic place
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Tides
Not felt great, past couple of days. Nothing major, just something working through my system. Not typing great, though. So… pics…
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The home that found me
Was it the line of giant ribs and hills?Was it the wetsong,chorused over stones?Was it the moss,thick like a rug over ancient roots?Was it the cloud,hanging over mountainsideand stoic rock?Or was it the tide,paintedin phosphorescenceforthat one wild party through the moonbeams?The rhythm of somethingas endless as the hugthat saved my heart.As endlessas the tears come… Read more
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