4/18/13
I hold my compassing arms out like
beacons from the roof; this rain,
this water rushing rivulets won't stop
me, I am a floodlight. I am a foghorn.
I am chiseling your name into rocky
forearms; they were cliffs once, airy
and endless, the headiest view. When the
rain stops I will fold my arms umbellar,
I will jump, catching whatever wind
might be. I will be a dandelion seed.
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