Avery Hatfeild

West Jessamine

Absense

the field is dark
cows yawn in the early morning
they dream in silence

Quietus

The fire fading
Smoke clouds the air,
Each breath thicker than the last
Embers die out

Drops

Dew soaks the ground
Making the soil damp
The Earth is new

The Pulp Between Psalms

Discarded piece of nothing
Deep between the binding

Once pure and white
Now written and scarred

Holding my detrimental voices
and there thoughts on the page

Words emphasizing my imperfection
My inadequate and limited self.

Destructive words amid the life giving
Dwelling in wholeness only to find self doubt