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Poem by Matthew Andrews

clouds, photo taken by Cindy Bousquet Harris


How easy it is to feel a cold wind

dancing across the length of your arm

and forget the force of the flames,

the blistered braille on the skin.

How faded the ecstasy of bone dances

in the valley, the heartbeat thump

of stomping echoing in the desert sky.

How intimate you become with the dust

until clouds return in flocks

and bathe you in their songs.

How deep the ache in the chest until

you remember to exhale and breath anew.

Based in Modesto, California, Matthew Andrews is a private investigator and writer

whose poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Dewdrop, pacificREVIEW,

Deep Wild Journal, Song of the San Joaquin, and Eunonia Review, among others.

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