Cinder Poem by Tajma Hall

Cinder



The cinder pots chide
in day among the sprouts
I hide
you an amazing sparkle
having touched upon grace
I am no longer gentle but warm
to reach the dust
I incline that I must
never part with this day
my best knit wishes
for closet fame in the murk
is the endless dust I puff
off your footsteps through my heart

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