trying to find the right rocks for big jumps, series of skids, huge plops, and then the perfect throw.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Rocks in the belly,
suicide worms washed up on the driveway,
algae on the slate stones.
I have just realized that my feet are not webbed, nor is my heart.
If God were sitting next to me on my porch,
I would rest my head on his shoulder.
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