Tuesday, February 28, 2012

or why speaking to you is difficult

Winter of snowy owls on tiny
roofs and juvenile eagles
in the fingers of trees.
This is our winter,
of waiting.
I’ve learned to measure
tides by the smell of the wind
and to nurse a child out of fever.
What I cherish most is this:
the want of some thing
so badly,
my whole torso aches with it.  

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