Friday, March 02, 2012

Poetry Friday: Bull

Something to Seek

Somewhere in middle age
she lost that thing.
She walks across the floor
of bulls at machines,
the mirrors of her
mental image
no longer offering
the reflection she remembers.
All the looking glasses
have grown lines she never maps.
She seeks something to seek.
She doesn't want to be grounded
in any kind of wise
she'd rather take to the blue of 
wings and parachutes
and clasp expanse in the prison
of her human need to reach.

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