TheFeatheredSleep – To one not a stranger
Because you are not a stranger
usually I am too reticent, restrained, packaged away
in some hat box with a faded bow
to reach, to linger, to listen
I am a carefully tended garden without entrance
belies her wild interior and the need she has to be untamed
and still you spoke
tearing through the bower, the shrubbery, all my thorns
as natural if we had just been interrupted. having a long conversation
bounding into my life with that long-legged gait reminding me
of those California girls with skin you want to photograph
and ride on horses with until their cheeks get hot
no you are not a stranger
anymore than my French fatalism
is contrary to the opalescent sway of things
we all hang in some form or fashion
from our necks till light betrays our dreaming
and we must enter the sore lot of reality with something of
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