r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

short fiction  short poetry  short commentary  short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Douglas Barricklow

Shaman

 

 
When he spoke
it came from a great distance
across frozen wastes,
its strength the kind of quiet
when you hear a soaring cliff
breathe frost down your neck,
or when a gray bird
changes everything in the valley,
feathers the color of rain.

 

 

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