Hurry Home – Heather Moore Niver

Heather

Clocks tock

past

twelve. Scant rattle

of orange

Heartbeat

through bare branches.

Footsteps

Wind wheedles,

curls cold

Heartbeat

down your collar. Breaths catch

and rasp at the back

Footsteps

of your throat. Thud and quick.

Empty road echoes.

FootstepsHeartbeatFootsteps

Hot breath.

Icy grip.

Footsteps

~~~~

When she’s not wielding wild words or swilling hot black coffee, Heather Moore Niver is trying to herd her wily sheep and chickens, persnickety cats, and beardy husband at her cabin in New York State.

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10 thoughts on “Hurry Home – Heather Moore Niver

  1. Pingback: Hurry Home by Heather Moore Niver | Random Rantings of Jordan Drew

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