Friday, January 26, 2007

only half is visible

the way a mountain
and the ocean
look similar

blue, breaking

my face is
no face

what dissapears
in the mirror there

my hand on wood -- bureau, brush
handle, spoon

when you asked me
if the water was always so blue
you heart
beating was your mouth

the double-crested's singing happens
in gestures, backwards
zig-zagged shadow the flickering
script, amissed blinking

shutters on bone-flutters
a slough through, thickets
where the tubes entered
and carried you away

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is this real?