Birds Fly Through Us

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A half-baked smile
perched on your lips.
A color mentioned slow,
I don’t question the direction.
Small girl next to big,
but same in all ways.
Your absent mind,
mine full of almost answers.
Does there always need be a destination?
Birds fly though us, Gracie.
We’ll always have that.
Birds fly though us.





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sunnysyd said...
Jan. 22, 2009 at 4:50 am
That was a truly amazing poem I love the part about the half baked smile and almost answers. A million images come to mind, and that is what I look for in a good poem. Keep writing!
 
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