It whispers in my ear when speech evades me.
“I don’t know where it blows from. And in its sources is my power.”
My eyes find the ability to open. I see my feet, standing in canvas shoes.
I see the sidewalk pavement, the phone booth,
The broken down car.
Miles from home, from love, and settling out there, alone.
My voice sounds braver than my slightly shaking hand feels.
My sweaty brow is cooler when
It snakes past me.
Do I kid myself when I insist on
See more progress on: write a (sloppy, half-formed if need be) poem every day (or so) during October 2010
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