SPOTT, verity
Good Morning

The morning approaches. It engulfs everything, filling the precincts and flooding the valley with sound. The sky and the air seem to be speaking, reporting every moment. The hearts are lit up and flee. 

One night, I rose, and retreated into the dream. A vehicle welcomed the cold, and quietly rose. Inside the dream you were floating cut off, down along the coast. I thundered for your name.

Published by Pilot Press, 2026
Poetry