Waters of Dust

  1. Hanging up on a cross;
  2. Dripping from toes, my dross.
  3. Buried in waters of dust,
  4. Chipping away at crust.
  5. Breathing on me, a dove
  6. Sent from the moon above.
  7. Tending fin, wing, and claw.
  8. Eating good fruit I saw;
  9. Nibbling on blood and brain.
  10. Riding on wheel of pain.
  11. Farming thorns from the brink,
  12. Wanting for crumb and drink.


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By Kim Siever

I live in Lethbridge with my spouse and 4 of our 6 children. I’m a writer, focusing on political news, social issues, and the occasional poem. My politics are radically left.

I’m also dichotomally Mormon. And I’m a functional vegetarian: I have a blog post about that somewhere around here. My pronouns are he/him, and I’m queer.

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