Sunday, April 1, 2012

A Personal Geography

There is a place above the navel
and below the breastbone where
There is an old woman looking out a window.

There is a newborn child
held by its mother.
There is a mother holding
her child that will never be born.

There is a woman wading in a stream;
there is a puddle up to her knees.
There is an urge to throw things out.

An empty cage

A singing crow

There is what I believe myself to be
And there is all that I do not yet know.

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