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Monday, October 18, 2010

'instant' poem for Frank

years dissolved in the air
we breathe in/ex
spiration

black and what ghosts
of yesteryear
appear

merely boys gone
to seed / gone
to ground

our expectations
whittled away
by time

as the river flows
on into the sea
blessing

of the feet / and of
our hands in
pockets

like grandson clocks
little hands at ease
winding down

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