Peck
 
eight quarts of trouble
kissed my cheek
a mere brush

but a shadow warning

its essence contained
and ready to explode
like whirling knives
or spears of love
that strike without thought
the sense of knowledge
just beyond perception
the invisible prophet
the innate response

  Copyright © Rose Lobel, 2010
All rights Reserved

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

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