Sandy Rankin

Sick of Words I Meet the Mad Woman
The wind brings ice.
Trees crack.
I dream of escaping
through broken windows.
She smells like honeysuckle.
The white blossoms.
The threadlike stamena.
Her humming rises in my throat.
Hair billows from my mouth.
I wait for one clear drop
of sweet milk sap
on the tip of my tongue.


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(Hether Burks)