Tuesday, March 23, 2010


When the light
is masked in the Spring
I think of Europe,
the home of fairy tales.

Somewhere in Europe,
the door to the border
of the unbelievable is open.
I would be able to see shadows inside.

I am nearly content with crocus,
emerging from the mat of dead red leaves.
The model in my brain
is bigger than I've ever seen.


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