The Ground We Touch


The Ground We Touch



No lust to sing of or heartbreak

to bury. Circling the golden fields

of yesterdays gone,

coiling the hooded tomorrows


and all the white folds

of sky. Under

the driftwood stars,

a thousand sleepers drain the

waters from zenith high.


They crash down, sinking into

bedrock, stumbling below where

no bird could breathe.

And above where the oceans

burn and roll, fish take flight

like a million moons.


© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst



Published in “Synchronized Chaos” November 2018

Synchronized Chaos November 2018: The Things We Carry

Poetry from Allison Grayhurst



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:



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