Friday, March 27, 2015

she is a poem.





the vulnerable
muscles that force them
to remain intact
a leaf, clutching
the branch of early spring
his palms on her skin, the indelible
rumors of time

just sleeping children, buried
under their covers
exposed to the world, they are
more than they know
these things, the quiet and
elusive commodities

but she is the giant, roots
delving deep into the earth
red vines climbing the stucco
in the mid-western autumn
west and to the eastern shore
she mimics and sways
missing only a beat


© 3.27.2015 heather brager 

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