Friday, June 1, 2007

Call me to your busy grave
of overcrowded stars,
through highway constellations
and moonlit speeding cars.

Give the trees my body
if the Earth is nourished so,
so that I will not topple
when the hard winds start to blow.

I am not a waterfall
who rushes to the mist;
In fact, I've never rushed to anything
nor anything have missed.

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