Thursday, January 1, 2009

The Small Girl With Freckles


The door opened and she stepped in.
That is when everything stopped and
Every word dripped from the ceiling,
Into the pond where eyeless fish waited
Where thin emotional fronds waved
Soaking in the barest of nutrients.

The door opened and the din disappeared.
Everything became as clear as mountain
Air rushing through the gasping lungs
Of a hillside runner, as light off volcanic
Glass in a field of ancient dreams retold
In the fragments of necessary protection.

The door opened and the stagnant breath
Of the book-filled study rushed into space
Full of metaphors of feeling, capsules
To the stars and generations to explain
How the small girl with freckles burned
Elements into life with her smile.

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