My Weblog

September 30, 2006

Filed under: Art, Uncategorized — limewoody @ 7:57 am


When they clear old farmland
for development,
sometimes they leave
the ancient trees,

Marking the border
for a vanished family,
standing guard
over the play yard
of long-dead ghost children.

Threads of rotted rope are
caught in the branches of the
silent sentinels.

These bits of twine flutter
in the wind,
and I feel a child’s breath
at my back,
and I rub at the dust
in my eyes.



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