Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Oddly Shaped Icons

shards of  unsorted puzzles
    that will never fit together
    that will never sing a tune

come as memory

the shape of dirt on bare feet
    a gravel road going away
    the sadness of summer grass

stuck like a battered ship in a bottle

through blown glass bubbles
    piano harmonies without resolution
    a haunted bejeweled earth

not really the past

this lens of present distortion
    forgetting a simple rich pool
    those slow walks of belonging

loving a lost place called home    


willamette writers

willamette writers

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