Wednesday, July 27, 2011


I am a tight-bound fortress
towering red-brick walls
of chipped stone that do not balk at weather.
I am behind the windows of the balcony
gazing out upon a windy morning, watching
leaves upon leaves flow past, and your hands grapple
at the window locks. You think I am asleep
but I stand vigilant, always, even
with my eyes closed. You do not know, but my treasures
are made of cold stone, gilded gold
yet ready to sink in water.

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