Saturday, April 19, 2014


My daughter rushes up the stairs,
crushing an object to her chest
with a beach-towel.

"I want to show you something
I stole from a puddle."

A marvelous, clear sheet of ice,
a bubble-filled window
is melting in her arms. 

Let's go biking, she insists.

All in black, I soar down the road,

scarf a-flutter, my shadow
as if a raven on wheels,
toward the main street.

In full view of the neighbors,
I hit a rime of sand, and crash.

A large coin of skin 

is shaved from my palm.
The blood seeps slowly,
declares, I am alive!

And it stings.

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