Follow

the way the light,



the time of day,



as you look at,



it ticks away





the moves make,



songs you sing,



the new home



grows old





trees break on



you close your eyes,



the leaves



and pretend to be





water, crisp + clear



what you were-



the dry land



beautiful + bold

Author's Notes/Comments: 

if you don't like the fact that it doesn't make sense, there is a poem within it, easy to find!  Written Februrary 24 2004

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