paulhp poetry

above the russet tops of trees
beyond the watery veil and curlicues
of cloud, is room enough for our bone
trapped minds to open, swirl and dream
and we all get there in the fullness of time
as sure as knowing that love will win in the end
but while we breathe we should take a look
the wrong way down the telescope
and see that we’re sucking the breast dry
before we’ve had the chance to grow