open found and Susan

Daily These shriveled seeds we plant, corn kernel, dried bean, poke into loosened soil, cover over with measured fingertips

this message I write

till the words are clear and cured

this Sunday that hums
down into final sleep
I hope


these verbs I move in my mouth
till my muscles quiver

a  h  h  h  h
to be home again!
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This entry was published on OctoberUTCbTue, 12 Oct 2010 16:22:36 +0000000000pmTue, 12 Oct 2010 16:22:36 +000010 24, 2007 at 0.13 and is filed under Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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