Thursday, January 13, 2011

Water and Air

I drop below the surface
of this harsh
blue soup, lifting the
weight of my arms and
sing, to the quiet molecules.

Above the boundary,
in the echoing room
wet, rubber people are
walking one foot
at a time, across
 uneven, white tiles.

Suspended
in this cement womb,
I float, imagining an ancient
innocence.
at

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Barry Lopez

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