Friday, August 10, 2012


Words pour across the page,
spill over the edge,
like so many beads from a broken
cord, falling from my neck.

They roll above wide pine boards,
lodge in wooden grooves
like wayward thoughts, I retrieve them
missing one, now two.

So much like beads from a shattered 
strand, the words shift and change
restrung, refigured, recombined,
pattern, color, rhythm, line ---
what I see, redefined.

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