Wednesday, December 28, 2011

hurricane diptych

You were quivering, and it was August.
My feet tracing rippling water, in Muskegon,
and behind a coffeeshop, a history descends!
A remembrance- of forward moving motion,
and an exposure to a yellowing sun.
I can equate movements to rhythm,
but the flower I am waiting for has not yet descended
to your fragile, open hands.
Shouted loud to protect your name.
I find it hard to differentiate between structure and form.
Your redwood lips are tea-leaves,
my fingers graze over them, in the dark,
to find eternal meaning, or evidence of creation.

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