By chris
Date: 2008 May 26
Comment on this Work
[[2008.05.26.16.00.15899]]

Poetry, like the three tumbleweeds in my back yard

is sometimes carried
long distances
by nothing more than wind
and unconscious desire
only to meet a fence,
that stops its movement
toward nothing
in particular,
and surrender to the sun
and to time,
both of which were
waiting
for that moment all along.