Tuesday, May 7, 2013


Looking around, everything has stopped,
Not frozen
As time still ticks,
Does not bombard as if an avalanche,
Rather drips clear from the end of an icicle
Having seen its last days,
No longer worrying
What if I should be seen in this way—
Strength in its weakening
Perception oft death in defiance
Of counterbalance,
An ill-picked fight,
Give in
Just a little
And so will I—
A summer snow cone
In the right hands,
A child’s sticky fingers
A smile,
The napkins coat and cover
Mom pulls from her pocket more
Squeezing water from a bottle
Vigorously brushing, scraping, patting down,
A smile,
Sometimes all it takes is a smile
To lay us down,
Make it stick,
Let us love again.

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