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.
Friday, June 1, 2007
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