Monday, March 23, 2009

There are smiles to be had. Innocent smiles
Aand flirtations, secret coquetry that
We can't help but notice with
Wide-eyed expressions of hope and
Grief and the trees that shake and dance
And weep after storms all too expected.

The silence of this moment, this
Moment that freezes our second hands
Wrapped around wrists while our first
Are reaching for each other, swans seeking
Someplace that feels right, familiar because
Even ducklings have a place to be
Fed by the elderly woman, throwing bread
From aged fingers, ripping crusts from centers
With a half-smile on her face. Not even
The swans will know if that other half will exist,
Devouring crusts, swallowing crumbs through
Toothless bills, and she can only
Hope that fingers will never touch plastic bag.

We point at the signs in the sky, just
More distracting illusions to keep
Ourselves from blinking for too long, from
Keeping the sun down with wills
And hands kept all too busy,
Second hands that must thaw sooner
Or later. But for now, this is it, and
The tress will always shake and dance
And weep when tired heads
Rest on shoulders all too willing.

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