By | September 5, 2010 at 3:55 pm | No comments

Photo by Dr Cullen via flickr

Toothbrush tip peeking from a jacket pocket.
Multi-knife heft on left belt side,
knurled spun-metal mini light balances the right,
spare socks, t-shirts, blacks and olive drabs
rolled and tamped down in a dusty rucksack –
side pockets stuffed with bits of rope and string,
rubber bands and copper wire,
books of matches, candles, safety pins,
paper, pencils, pens and crayons,
flute, juice harp, and spoons –

thick-soled boots with steel at heel and toe,
one hat works for rain or sun,
another stashed for winter’s chill,
pants pockets flat against her road-hard hips,
sometimes she strides along the shoulder,
sometimes she waits for rides

in parks and skyways, greyhound stations,
on street corners or railroad trestles –
everywhere she wanders
she takes measure with her eyes,
sits and listens.
She is a medium of sound and light,
of ground and sky

and when a dawn is painted
or when a face is drawn in poignant lines,
when bodies reach for distant mysteries
and trees stretch out their canopies,
washed in sunlight colors –
stark-limned in pale moon white
her hands make love to paper pages,
moving with her sight
as rainbow sounds sing in her mind.

Perhaps her touch will find you
and she’ll draw you in
to a picture she’s fulfilling,
a song she’s realized,
if you’ve strength enough to sense it
you’ll be captured,
set free,
before she leaves.


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