the red-tail circles
in groundless flight
not tree nor rock in sight
I count the things
I think I can count on
directness
steadiness
immense appreciation
our long and carefully-skirted love
and I long to land
to find solid ground
and to learn
at this late date
what the word faithful might mean
to a child condemned to hell
9.17.06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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