Dusted Roots: Another Time

three-day-old artists
unnerved on those sudden curves
near clouds, and keepings

fully stretched skylines
recite their kitchen sonnets
with white peaks, and green

tattered hall curtains
cry of time walking away
like fading figures

yet she named fire —
misted houses without dreams
still women, painting

we’re lost to others
whose clouded eyes only see
living, on the cusp

. . . . .

Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: Women.Poets.Oregon
Process: Augmented cento