February 12, 2009

And it poured out like springtime-

like breathing in a storm cloud.

In the lost pages of childhood

and here in the twilight of who I used to be

images hold my hand and heart still.

It is a mirror held up and dropped again;

it is the road spooling out behind;

it is a river writen on the palm of my hand;

it has broken my heart

wide open.

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