Wednesday, January 13, 2010


Though I am told you are old immovable,

a large and ominous cloud above my head,

I cannot see you there.

Sometimes I catch glimpses of you

as a bundled winter couple,

gloves about to touch as you turn the corner

often seven strides ahead of me as I walk home

but when I return to by bed,

and can count the tics of my steady heart

I grab you and hold you close

until morning weakens my grip.

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