Untitled Poem #130

Posted: June 21, 1992 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,

it’s a wonder that all of the leaves
don’t get up and trundle around
with all of the creatures that live
just barely above the ground.
the rocks and sticks on the earth,
the streams and fields that I
have crouched in, turning stones
or wistfully hurried by
hold the secret lives of things
to small to see with ease;
they’re working behind the bark
and playing under the leaves.

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