Monday, November 7, 2011


It is a wonder our ribs don't break
as your love pushes outwards--
drawing people in, singing and dancing
toward you. You might see us through
our eyes-- tiny in comparison,
or large when taking the ants perspective,
or shining in front of your throne.
And when you see us crying or begging,
is it from our inside out-- my hands in front of you,
as if I were drying your tears and not mine?
Or outside in, my cheeks flush, your hands
reaching down?

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