Tuesday, October 05, 2010

Between The Rungs

Between the rungs. That's where the poetry lives. That's where I live. I climb the ladder as in a dream, slip through between the rungs, floating in a white flannel nightgown. Birds and serpents in view on the hill below. I wake up. I want to return to the dream but the bed is cold and my elbows are digging into the mattress. I hold my hands over closed eyes.

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