Memories like bullets
lifeless until held or loaded…
The wind comes around again
magnified from different angles.
Crystals are in the net,
an elephant in the room.
A gun reaper steals joy.
But it waits by a stream in the woods
where a voice in the wind sways the trees,
where harmony hums
through feet on the ground,
arms swaying overhead
with infinite connection and awe…
where a voice in the wind sways the trees.
Meet mago contributor Belinda Subraman