Song of Venice
June 14, 2013
If I cajole a prayer
June 18, 2013

There was a child in me
once fished for absent-minded
koi in the golden streams enrobing
Saturdays; on a bed of rock,
my pale feet would lie,
beside the rough red barn
as summers strolled.
And when the quiet stilled enough for whispers,
that brook once asked me
why the sun seethes at noon and rain is dour
down the sky; why wheat is spineless supple,
and rock so stoic mad—
but being five, i said there wasn’t much
to it at all, but that it is, and is enough
for me. she hushed then—in time for wind
to whistle through the trees and
hear the shrieking cry of mother
birds convening family in the canopy

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