Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Poetry Wednesday

Division of Labor

We go east
At the helm you are
careful, spotting

in the back with
explosives, tending a great wish
for warmth.

(You burst, and I can smell sunlight.           I ignite
and burn perfectly,
      without a conscience,
                    in one direction)

I am afraid of the wind.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:
Third Anniversary
by Sara Guest

What’s lighter than now?

Your shadow close to the lighthouse
the green rocks
the green rocks
the shell
the pink insides
the shell eaten away

thick-fisting sun
how love washes through me
the scrubbing

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