FENCES
Seems the harder
I try the whiter
my hair becomes.
I keep trying anyway
for fear of a different
darkening, an unused-to
stumbling into stillness.
My neighbor, whose name
turns dark when I whisper,
rebuilds a fence between
us I'd torn down. I'm
not sure why we do
the things we do or
don't before we sleep.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
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