Saturday, February 5, 2011

GRACE IN ABERDEEN


Sleep comes
vivid and holding
thrust in curves of serration
helpless to decipher
between weed and flower
iron stain or rust.
The cool beneath my pillow
expels river-thick heat
to cypress from jalousie.
Days are reckoned
as laundry strung out
children laughing
and the consideration
of each first gush
that all are called to the wellspring
clumsy and unaware
mid stalks and thorns
and urge(d) to drink.

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