Sunday 12/21/2008 11:50:00 PM

Bad bridges spilled the landscape. She never got there. The mouse on its hind legs acting the wizard to her cat. Still got eaten anyway. It's just a dent in the ribs. This journey that you malign. It's not unique. Same bruises. Different places.

Paint the ghosts. Still can't see them. Mark the graves. Still can't find the dead. Hate the wind. For stealing. The things I didn't hold tight. But it's all my fault.

Name the hours. Tag them. So I can get back again. To where I was. Am. Empty flower pots. The soil swallows. Seeds I never saw.

Years later. Everything is bigger than I remember. Or I am so much smaller than I was then.

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