.white feathers. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

I am not a silent poet

i dream i dream of porcupines.

white feathers dipped in blood.

bloody mess  wars,

bodies rotting  there.             there

are   thoughts while stitching that

this could save the world.

a quiet thing. no injuries, the blood

comes small in useful            drops.

drops down,      meditative sound.

white feathers fall.

porcupines.

white feathers

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