There are days we live life
as if death were nowhere
in the background.
There are finger-painted mornings
and thick buggy afternoons when
we run barefoot down hills, crush
clover and bees with our dirty hells,
swinging buckets empty of all but
seashells.
There are evening when all
that we carry are our shoes
in our hands
and the ocean in our eyes.
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2 comments:
this was a WAR assignment!
that aside, it's really good.
oh, god...
i want those days. those evenings. so much.
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