The Sound of Ink

  Whispering leaf bones of pines emerald my window as the last gasp of winter foams the horizon.   My heart lifts a psalm of spring in goosebumps along my arms.   The constancy of season’s change breaks the glue of grief I’ve been mired in.   For a few chords of hallelujahs I am the wings I begged God to send me. ©Susie Clevenger 2021 The Sunday Muse #149

  In the pristine sparkle where footprints don’t mar sunlight or ruffle the coverlet of new fallen snow I am a mere brushstroke in wonderland holding space for poets who need to fill their eyes with ink. ©Susie Clevenger 2021 The Sunday Muse #145