Monday, January 11, 2016

my shadow

it loves its wound by scraping on it, 
it doesn't know the difference
between love and petulance 
between generosity and making messes
it has a poem a day for you to read like the family in the rare campground has a song for you to hear 
and another and another
playing from speakers on the picnic table 
dawn to dusk
they say care, care, care

it feels like you can't help
it you pack the bag drive to the wilderness unpack put the charged battery in turn up the volume
yes, though, what if we went back inside now
and turned the lights off

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