Saturday, January 22, 2011



I said to the day: you know
my secrets, you’ve seen the abyss
where I make turquoise
out of my daydreams,
you’re acquainted with my laughter
and the pain in my legs.

I know none of your secrets,
said the day.  I hide in the clouds
whenever you weep and visit night
when your desolate ghost needs to rest.

poor scared shadow,
anxious to sleep on the summit
of a drunk tree in bloom.

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