Adpoted, I adopt my own ideas
About who my real parents really are.
My mother; ocean and spring rain; the dew
On grass stems sparkling, a field of stars:
All water, blood that courses past my eyes.
My father – rocks and wood and muddy bones,
The mountains laid behind and raised before,
All sturdy piles of softly mortared stones.
I am Adopted
Posted: November 14, 1992 in PoetryTags: Blood, Bones, Mother, Mountains, Ocean, Rain, Rock, Stars, Stones, Water, Wood
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