July 20, 2011

why dreams poke through...

 the miller's daughter

yearning to learn
where to lean
between the straw
and Antigone
between real and antiquity
be it robin or wren
or crested woodpecker hen
they all sing 
the chorded bellies of the clouds
skimming all the loud 
pink and orange
the sky can lose without dying or leaving
stretching itself across that place
where every eye cedes power
to the noses of the world
and each subsequent breath is less sharp stick
and more warm womb
more warm womb
more warm
what else can I do waiting for  you in the dark?

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