time taps at our toenails
pulling at our pace
why do you want us so badly
showing us how good we are
at that which we dread the most
candle light from the past
holds us in its shadows
one old wooden clothespin
holding us in the breeze
drying the roots
that support us so well
as the sunlight pulls us
towards the treetops
of everyday banal tasks
river baskets full of years
Thursday, January 1, 2009
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