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Thursday, December 23, 2010

a short poem I recently re-discovered and 3 of my photos


Leaves, be feet for the wind.

A passing of silver hands through the streets,

Eyes moving as though on great strings. Leaves.

Soft golden feet of my own age invents itself

Like a journey or the thoughts of a fine wolf.

Oh we don’t even look at the stars.

So many things keep us from watching.

The sounds of voices my little ones,

Listen to them rise.

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