Wednesday, December 01, 2010

Almost Dawn

Almost Dawn

I am the call of happy cranes
the sigh of the wind around fruit-bearing trees. 
And, of course, Sir,
I am the perforated nipples
that change everything into symbols
like the storm in the last stanza of a poem. 
I am almost dawn
that wants to be broken
if only to say something. 
And I cannot pay for a book of poetry
but I am present in all of them
as the dirty billow of abandonment
or clear day of dreams.

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