The Burning Boy

As my eyes alight on cloudy mist,
and see spring-winter dew,
With thoughts abound from here to there,
but always over you
The things to say, (even how and why)
come easily like rain
Whose hopeful new clouds can make the day
and apprehension wane

But when the dew, mist and rain are gone,
In early afternoons,
Approaching benign crosswalks with you,
I stand on remote dunes
In deserts burning like the blue sky’s
stammered elocution
Hoping to see a smile, like clouds,
bring precipitation

Copyright 2011


About andrewwhiting

A sentimental and sarcastic poet, lover of language, traveling and nature (not a fan of the Oxford comma).
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1 Response to The Burning Boy

  1. Devin Falk says:

    I think you’re getting pretty good. I don’t really know you, but I feel like you’re holding something back. Like you’re not letting yourself get overwhelmed by the piece. I struggle with it all the time.

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