Saturday, August 20, 2011

Green atlas

the light plays on your pupils
constantly as a
child with a ball
is unsatisfied with every
single blade of grass,
every inch of cloud;
your nose has pierced the sunshine
and where distance meets the horizon,
i hold out my hands,
become one with the earth,
and fall in a waterfall
the distance to the horizon-
knowing full well the length
i'll have to fall,
i'll have to cry,
to reach it down there. 

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