Writer in San Francisco, CA
In May, the fog slips
Into the city nestling
Against glass and steel
I am perched at the bar and
Swim in music and murmurs
In May, the fog slips…
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she claws her way out of hell…
slid into heaven…
evening sun sets soft…
Poem written in Tanka form “The waves break on shore as dark clouds gather…”
She spun a thread between her fingers the black line tight across her skin…