Oct
19
2009

Rock House

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Poetry

Fire –

costume of lovers

worn to parties

and in the springtime –

blue licking orange savoring red.

A circle of hunger

soon depleted.

Ash dissolved in wind.

 

I’d rather have a glacier –

the patience of clear mass

advancing a weight of centuries,

raising rock from earth’s body,

shaping a house open to sky.

From its battered ledges, we’d watch

beavers weave easy circles

in a swelling pond.

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