Sunday, June 6, 2010


When it waxes, we weep.
When it wanes,we cry.
The difference is a disciple
of trying, an uninvited

guest of why we dream.
The heat's unbearable,
of course, because heaven's
always just around some

corner. The wind,
forgotten in its branches,
gets lost again looking
for us. Cold

stars describe what
won't be true about us long.

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