Saturday, November 23, 2013


A river
A lake
An ocean
Even water from the sky
That has yet to find its new temporary accommodations
Mark a line
On the walls of your
Like teenagers do with pocket knives on the trees in the local state park
You erase the marks
The initials written over double hearts
With the languid carelessness of a squirrel preparing for winter
New walls
New floors
New paint
Channels to redirect
The river
Even the water from the sky
Should the whim move it
To return
To a spot it hadn’t been to in years
To renew and venerate connections
Muck like F.C. and C.B.
In the woods
On a perfect summer day
With not a cloud in the sky

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