Waiting Time
A part of you is
a part of me.
We are dolls in
the a small vacant farm.
You built us a home
with love.
A dirty rag around your
throat crossing a bridge
you will get there by noon.
Plant your vines.
Have faith.
In the morning
sunlight through glass
bowls.
Fingerprints mirrored.
Monday in the park
Copyright © Giselle Rutan | Year Posted 2011
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