Wednesday, April 6, 2011


small patches
scattered across the hillside
in my eye's corner
look like paper
that's been rained on
the day after
you accidentally hit it
with the lawnmower

it's unnatural, out of place
until the corner of my eye
turns somewhere else
and the paper, centered
in my vision becomes
shaded patches of snow

up higher, the powder's deep
where winter's holding on
down lower, we're mountain biking
wearing summer's t-shirts
here, in-between is stuck
not wanting to commit to the one
before the other's fully played out

and there, on the hillside
I see myself reflected
in that moment when the
waiter wants to take my order

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