Sunday, December 9, 2007

To my friends

Listen to the liquid notes

a small bird makes

salute to the day’s coming.


Words are easy,

easily taken

to say what they’re supposed

not to say-

and not to say

what they are supposed to.

Be gentle with me,

I’s mortal man.

Stumble I can, I do.

In words as in all else-

though it seems I’s so gifted,

I’s still mortal.


I can dance to their tune

or, smiling-

sit out the dance.


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