Thursday, November 17, 2005

The wind has brought snow to music and words

The child that reads and leaps
words over midnight’s crescent—
that child has always known

there only is one road—
one road to travel home—

one road that winds so stealthily
through carnival mirages
and voices hawking realities

as though they’re vegetables
or elixirs to bring back memories
that have always disappeared—

one road that’s seemed so lost
as though it never was

the road that like a kite’s thin string
cuts through the boiling air
and anchors the kite’s bold dreams

of freedom to the surface
of this earth from which it imagined
there is escape.

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