The concern is ample.
The light lingering touch
of fleeting feathers.
The words are kind.
They drift from where
the lungs are longing.
The glances are glowing.
Tender embers, the promise
of distant warmth.
The questions are sated.
As much ease
as intent.
It registers.
Shallow waters
only yield so much.
It takes another make
to grate nails to gravel
to bleed soil to life.
It is not a bad place, shallows.
Where minnows school
to the sunlight.
Befitting, to receive
only what is sought.
And no more.
(Penned March 11, 2011)
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