Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Confessional

Crisp as water drops
on granite, black and white.

What shape had the stone
before it was worn

round by time and the stream?
It must have drank itself from a square.

Would the water cut a channel there
to dull it's knife's sharpness,

so fearsome, or must I forever sit
apart from what would cleave me?

Either way, I may be no more.

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