poem
Rhett Hudson/Chris Weaver
rhett&chris at main.nc.us
Sun Apr 30 13:44:07 PDT 2000
OPEN SPACE
You have arrived here
before, burning for air,
surfacing in a circle
of early spring lakewater
with loons around you.
Did even the ones
who love you understand
why you stepped off
the dock into black
water? The beckoning voice
was so soft: consider
the lilies. We carve
that first time into
a monument of birdsong
and hand eachother deeper
trust, easily, like sandwiches.
-Chris Weaver
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