Tuesday, March 4, 2008

The Highest Form of Flattery

One at a time
Then both together.

The second and the minute hand
simultaneous
in the movement
one minute
    one second 
past twelve.  A


fragment of a movement
light reflected on a strand of hair

Rolling clouds 
   through rotting windows
pass over
    poppy fields.


Wistful, 
as a sweet wrapper
roly-polying down the street.

Once removed
Separated
Kept
as an old puzzle.

Still belonging!
And still, 

the pieces fit together. Both together as a 

remembered child.

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