In the wee hours,
somewhere along the way,
I lost them. Just ran out.
A tiny fish
in an endless ocean,
a poet,
entirely off her words.
They may never return,
to comfort me
when the world feels ugly.
Or maybe,
just maybe,
like a pet bird who tired
of its cage, they flew
out my window, and
might be lured home with
a soft voice,
an aromatic treat, and
a promise
of greater freedom.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: Public Domain Pictures
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