Saturday, February 28, 2009

Poem: Night Path

Rubbing our heels
we hardly notice
its will:
blades of grass bending
before each step,
the wet
shape of your foot
glowing white
in the dark.
For a moment
I wonder
if you can see me
through the ruined window
when licking your lips
the glass fogs
a moment
as we pass.

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