Poetry

Glass Dancer

Morning sun on a lonesome road

Eastward bound and it’s 700 miles as the crow flies

Sault Ste. Marie just passing through

Handful of red stones in my pocket 

I throw my dreams across the water

Wondering if they will come back to me

I’m a glass dancer carrying a white guitar

Watching the clouds get caught between the mountains

Like the words that swirl all around me

The sky won’t commit to anything

Just echoes coming through the mirror.

 

Deana Lafleur 2018

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