I don't have a neighbor. eek
Her joints swing, stiffly fluid and precise
Gently piercing the thick air
That she is, it is.
Her left big toe scissors and looks for something green
(Groping cautiously for what she cannot see)
And delivers a small purple-tipped sprig of spring.
She examines it, as something familiar and lovely
And we know we will dream of the strangely natural things
That come from watching one living.
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My Poetry and s**t
I have nowhere else to post this- please comment kindly, this is just random freeform directly from my head.
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eleanne
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