Sunday, April 5, 2015

the instinct of mountains

he stood
shroud like
on his
canes
squinted

never lost his
miraculous egg

also found
these sights
were limits
fog, really, like
alostratus

he hoped
he would
leap out
touching
dirt, fresh
plants
as one.




*Found poem, from one vertical inch of page 41, “Toy Story,” in Faber, Michel. Some Rain Must Fall, San Diego: Harcourt, 2000. Print.

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