Friday, December 4, 2009


This is for whatever it grows,
Here in my palm--

For stems, and schwag seeds
Stub-handed cacti--
Their saltwater--
And stubble-skinned canard

Here in my possession,
Somewhat scarred,

Is it so strange to want a handful of
Something bruising with generosity--

Something the hand must not have
So much as it must endure?

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