Saturday, November 27, 2010


Sometimes our breath fails to exceed the
Constancy of a stone stair--

But rarely, and in poor memory.

Our stair, after all, rivaled the ethereal pitch of
the sun, one time.

You could have said, "I love a cloud"


"I love the sun you pretended to ignore."

But you didn't.

You looked--the brim of
Your mistreated guarantee had been overcome.

Someone mentioned stars, and you gave in.

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