Upon these walls
are written a stone,
a branch, a bird.

In the brushstroke
of a word, the stone
is cold and gray
and resolute.

Above the stone,
the yearning
of a graceful limb.

Outstretched wings
suggest the wind.

In the space between,
a sky of dreams
where you and I
have fled,
far from the ashes
on our earthen floor.

April 18, 2006

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