Tuesday, December 28, 2010

231 - 240

your eyes are ancient

warm stones well worn by waters

impossibly gray

i think of my heart

empty. but what i see are

hollow lungs, breath full.

soft stone seattle

you've grown green moss on me like

lichen on a tree

driftwood driftwood!

you're back from the sea!

paid for salt with your sap you're

as dry as can be.

you walk like a cat

soft padded swagger, straying,

a feline beeline.

blood red ink

i don't remember hurting

writing, yes

how you phosphoresce

in natural light, to your

touch, a testament

in rescue

roots severed by spades

in effort

i am not waiting

held in place by sky and earth

dust i will become

'i'm old,' you profess

scrolled tongue and papyrus breath

rough edges curled lips

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