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In the Prairie Hiss of Lithe, Bright Grasses

Why can’t I be
a slender stalk,
wind-bent, rustling
against sisters, brothers,
braceleted wrists
of the Spirit
instead of marbled meat
and water
unreceptive to
transmissions?

Tell me, if I sit here
stone enough
to see each leaf
of aspen tremble
in its turning
or join the water
floating,
might I too
become
bronzened
light?
Posted 04/22/12
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