The Eyes
Behind rusted bushhogs
and hundreds bottled
black and green rain drops
sits the grave. A pin
gnarled in links chain
and formless walls.
Lupe’s paw prints
sink the earth,
gather in mud pockets
like the holes
that line a thoughtless
heart: mine.
For years she sat
with yellow-red
eyes and ancient
frown, watching
the carousel of stars
through the tree’s
canopy. I bet
she hoped against
all laws of life
that somehow,
somewhere, sometime,
she belonged to another.
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March 19, 2010 at 12:51 am
Like the holes that line a thoughtless heart: mine.
Very moving