Saturday, October 9, 2010


Ice crystals conform to the air -
Snowflakes, hugging the cool curves
Of the wind (with her arms and her hair
Tugging at trees and her toes and fingers
Receding into the cool grass down there.)
Gray today, or blue, or some gold?
By morning the sky will choose what to wear.
Now the moon throws off the clouds,
Slips out and leaves the bedclothes behind.
Glides across lakes, her feet trailing words.
Toes write on the water a story, unsigned.
A bird made of glass and courage and faith,
The swan and his kind didn't mind.

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