Friday, April 22, 2016


If I unroll my fingers just so
The gesture may continue
Into the air, growing freer
Passing from tree to tree
Then carried and elaborated
By half an oak leaf here
A torn paper wrapper there.
Translating itself, it is
A riffed sequence of notes
Or a play of colors
Dancing on the water
Or, looking like a girl,
It pays the ferryman
With a coin and a brief smile.
So tired it will be,
So changed, with beads
Woven in its hair, you
Will scarce know it as mine
When it touches your hand

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