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water clock
We
count the days
the tears and
wait their coming, lifting faces
to the
scent of rain before
the anorexic clouds have
plumped with
gray.
A mind
can know that trust
weighs less than doubt
and still it counts.
We
measure droplets at
a time
we breathe them in
we pour them out and
find
the closeness
making up the distance
isn't close at all.
Nor is the
distance far.
Our passion arms stretch wider
than our
Pavlov hearts allow
and everything beyond them
hums in shades of
background
noise, stirring
everything that is
into the white.
Mia Moore
Illustrated poem. I loved the line:
"Our passion arms stretch
wider
than our Pavlov hearts allow'" —Kirk
blndrsept03
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16
aug 03
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