Sunday, August 04, 2013


When one door opens. or you open it (not all doors know when. to open) for someone else, Nothing. had to close, Everything. it opens to. was there waiting for you. and them, The small. glassy orange petals without stems. they're really butterfly wings to bear us. across the tops of untended grasses. a dog. mottled brown and white. has eyes smiling bright. blues as wide as, The sky. she wants to be carried along beside us. an old man's wheel-chair. bound (by old fights) and wanting to share. his mis-remembered stories. with us, He's frowning at another door. waiting to be opened.
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