Poem #11


Child with large wax lips

As ghostly as memories

Faded Kodachrome


A painting undone

A portrait as Mouseketeer

Wrapped up in self doubt


Young woman, yellow dress

The shadow of a spider

Early morning sun


Deep deep blue shadows

A contrast of omission

That which is not there


The elusive snipe

A hot humid wandering

Small trails through the woods


Paths end at the creek

All of a Sunday morning

The smell of wet leaves


An unfinished song

Wading in barefoot cool water

Tenor of soft mud


We could be anything

Tethered we are to this spot

A memory flash


Eyes play tricks on us

We are all of the senses

We are so foolish


The thing is just this

That I am growing old now

That I grind my teeth

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