by Gerri Ravyn Stanfield | Apr 15, 2015 | Revolution of the Spirit, Revolutionary Poems |
in spring, the gray light is webbed and wet. I walk the tightrope of my healerteacherwriter life. some days, I coax words into the whitespace and listen some nights, from the mists, thirteen wild ones pour into the living room with maenad claws and fearless soft skins...
