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Wed, Sep. 10th, 2003, 12:54 pm

from my book in progress Sing Song for Mynah


pitter patter

she moves carefully. stepping
over her own words, cracks
avoided, imitating movements
small children make when
scattering from their beds
on summer mornings in haste,
running to meet another long
free day. everything is alone,
waiting to be discovered,
cradled and created. little
ones are not here and two
need be involved
in the process of walking.

words are as footstools
rested upon in the early
morning, gathering itself
up upon the rising sun.
little noises slip into wishes
for adjoining gardens— something
must pop up. sprouts seen
peeking heads into the day
they anxiously await, whispering
"nutrients all around us" and "my,
what a lovely light." so she treads
softly in the soil just over
their tiny trembling bodies, waiting
patiently for their arrival, cautiously
weighing each step, sipping on
water where dew has come
and minor parts are stepping
to momentous doorways,
bathing themselves with new
and soon.