Need Walks A Crooked Mile

This all too cloudless sky forgets
a thirst in the empty mouth of yesterday.
                  We live
                  in boxes
as though wind, as though rain,
but the air is still. Birds sing metallic songs.
                  Children gather
                  what is left
in pods made of blue glass. Seeds stick in
their throats, waiting for the sky to melt.
                              Snow will
                              not come
to this dry place. Gold coins pretend
they are manna, whispers licking
                              the boots
                              of strangers.

About the Author
Peggy Aylsworth is a semi-retired psychotherapist, living in Santa Monica, CA with her poet/blogger husband, Norm Levine. Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals throughout the U.S. and abroad, including Beloit Poetry Journal, The MacGuffin, Poetry Salzburg Review. Her work was nominated for the 2012 Pushcart Prize by The Medulla Review.