Friday, February 19, 2010

Body Double

Round skin, thin,
wears years like tree rings,

becomes rose-hued in the view
of a new moon,

while, across chairs
set to face each other

like knee caps, faded hair
curls around a weary neck,
strained from closed buttons.

Years swallow the past
like fasted Fridays,

part company, and raise
themselves for communion.

Eyes fall closed
to rest like a Winter Oak

blanketed in Saratoga snow.


(c)Nancy Powell          2007
from How Far Is Ordinary

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