Sunday, August 07, 2016

The Trees.

The sound of rain reaches my nostrils.
Hope leaps forever.  Tend to my cut soul.
I am bleeding like a river.  The river is drowning.

A cat has walked across the forbidden lawn.
The robot slowly takes his first step-he is like
a young actor, being reborn.  The movement is slow.
I am slow, too.  The trees are bending in the hurricane.
Palm trees, I think they are, and their leaves

wave in the wind.  Tell me, o potter, where do you go?
I haven't found a way out of the long mile.  Here I go.
Walking steadily on my forepaws.  The trees are bending,
I bend back.

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