Wednesday, January 22, 2014


Be as moss along a braided river,
ever scrubbed from the pebbles,
earth's polished bones dis-lodged,

be as a drifting branch;
if you become entangled,
petition the west wind
to propel you downriver,

past the dwarf fire-weed,
past the salmon fry,
past the cattails in the salt marsh,

a shadow of longing
inhaled in gelid embrace
by the fierceness of waves
during a summer storm.

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