Gems of light

fall silent as snowflakes,

dappling the back of your hand.

The city flows around and about,

but here on this bank,

between these trees

with dappled sunlight soft as snow,

nothing stirs

except the pulse of two hearts.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

10 thoughts on “Pulse”

      1. Maybe it’s that understanding that makes for a good poem. I’m not a fan of obscurity for obscurity’s sake. If I’m the only one who understands what I’m on about, what’s the point?

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