The following are personal poems that I wrote a couple of years ago.
Black birds swoop down from the sky,
sweep up to the roof.
A collection of words,
they tell their tale to the wind.
This bit of a bit of prose-poetry:
Pieces of myself are like bits of colored glass, buried in the muck.
I am finding the pieces, washing them clean and trying to find out
where they fit into the window of my soul.