Nate Margetze

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I am her, my movement in eyes. In the way, I reach, but cannot grasp the sky. I am her: and how it hurts to know this. I may stand, but how to stand together: when they have taken home? in this, even disappointment, dies. --- A miracle. A fondest love is born. up from the smokin ashes,  and blood, and trumpet sound,  a black procession, unmourned.  and shirts and dresses, torn.  across a raging ocean: in me. What could we say of love? --- That even from the depths of sorrow. A dove.
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