Wednesday, October 12, 2011

It's why I love her,

Strewn around these kinks and nicks
And purpling knuckles
Is the memory of the hands with which I
Once prayed.

This parishoner gets spared, and the rocks get treated kindly by the light.
This place on Earth must certainly be Heaven.

The stream-smoothed rocks, one after another glisten--

It's as if they have captured the naive burnishes from Heaven
And amid the cursing flush and grit disbursement they glow.

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