Springs

I consulted flower

oracles

—petal’ing hope—

peered into polished crystals

— factory-formed orbs—

scanned sky & stars

—horoscopes imagined by better-paid staff writers—

flipped cards

—playing tarot solitaire—

asked young people

—who didn’t have to be nice—

and old people

—who did—

I agonized over monosyllables

—chapter-length in analysis—

believed in belief

—then didn’t—

forged faith

—then couldn’t—

dreamt darkest dreams

—in dissolution—

and in that abyss,

fostered

—reason—

About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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