Monday, March 24, 2014

cresting the hill
each vista gives to sinking
into a crease
a green valley 
beneath the cirrus 
and the blue of ages

each cut investigates
the depth of 
substance, leafs 
of ancient letters
under plain highways
through the midwest,

your vibrant eyes
and raised cheeks don't
betray that 
i know you best 
when i feel the bones
in your hands

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