Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Dreams of a Boy

The dry hills
stick in your throat
and the grass beats rhythms
of snakes at your feet

Always there is the eye
that wanders beyond
the pine ridges that hem you in,
that stole your heart as a boy

Romantic construction
builds rainbows and visions,
lays waste what your heart
was telling you all along

Find your place in the world,
stay a while and drink
from the many streams

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