Wednesday, 21 July 2010


Sometimes I cannot learn

any truth for a whole day

until a bird insists

with repetition from its tree

that I listen

and float in her sound far away;

until my heart dances

in clouds high and free

and slows. Then I can

release a little pain

and follow my heart. My fist

opens into to a palm. See

how real I am. No longer a trickster

- a butcher, baker, candlestick maker.

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