Marchi Wierson

the door on your face
to an open horizon
and your lips
like stairs
curve me climbing.

lands a crow then lightly,
tiptop a tall spruce tree, the
new growth reaches skyward
and doesnt bend to the bird,

a singsong caw rises in blue
with an awk awk awk replying

i sit still now
on tumbled ocean stones
searching for light,
when i hear you call
i answer

Marchi Wierson is a writer and artist living in Portland, Oregon. A self proclaimed urban hermit,
Marchi writes or draws most days. Currently her poems and art can be found at
madeofsaltwater.tumblr.com. RoguePoetry is her first online publication.
Read more from Marchi Wierson: spray cantata, both