Sunday, August 9, 2015

Turn Out To Be Abound

The light glitters where the water waves.
The child and mother wait in the green
Valley past falling roads, past glaciers.

These things existed, were hard to find,
Were rare, were what the father had gone
Looking for, at the ends of the roads,

Knowing there's no end to roads, only
Temporary ambuscados, traps
For the unwary going someplace

Else, convinced of a destination.
The water lights surrender their mist.
There's no end. Here's evaporation.

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