Thursday, January 30, 2014

Root - Prose



Root

My root’s not square
Its round
It pounds down
Into your musty
Valley
Of all that
Can be
We are
Messengers from two worlds
Each bearing gifts
Rifts
Splits
Imperfect passenger pigeons
With missives from past lives
Dusty miles traveled
Here now
To gaze into one another’s pools
Those floating orbs, planets
Galaxies
Merging.

--Eric Marley, December 2010

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