Sunday, August 1, 2010

hole in a cloud

you were never proud
of losing your raindrops.
from four corners
came the sound--
the crackle of iron.
pots and pans jangling,
fire and metal tangling.
you pointed,
drawing out a map
to your heart
for me to see--
it's outline disappearing
like the funny squiggles
we drew in the clay of coves.
a mist cast the sky in white
and your eyes fled to the trees,
two gray wrens taking flight.

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