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Icarus
Pressed
against stone and cement, I search for a hold. Ten feet
straight up; on the other side land rises to meet me safely
at the top.
A mile from here the granite towers; rock
rises and leaves land and concrete
below.
There, in a pure time, when trees and walls are
not enough I hang spread eagle my body
taut
my
fingers hooked in stone. The wind stops the
birds are still from above a feather falls:
and I know, my hands chalked white as wings I
am climbing granite to the sun.
To
Julie London (d. Oct. 18,
2000)
Seductive and elusive as a falling
leaf, your voice is
an autumn breeze, soft and
gentle, but full of winter
caressing the long
limbs of summer, slipping color from each rounded
shoulder, tossing, softly, the fall at our feet
until
the curtain descends and everything ends too soon too
soon.
Hide
and Seek
All that afternoon we worked at it,
carving our initials in soft gray bark, the week that
you were born.
The linked letters and crude heart
thickened, becoming letters among letters, heart among
hearts---a thick scar raised and dated, part of the history
of trees.
Now in a backyard filled with trees and
children eyes closed, your blond head buried in your
hands, you count against our silent rooted
past. The
others hide curled under bushes and behind nearby
trees. Barefoot,
laughing, one by one you find your friends and race them
home.
Our heart is home, and in your game a quick
touch sets you free.
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