working at carving, weaving
these platters of child into something.
mother would nod some kind
of slight and focused approval
at these mounds of carpet
and inflatable bit furniture.
we stare at ourselves behind
eyelids and smile our secret
wishes of love and warm meals --
we wake early to earn each
others' balanced judgements
of these relationships.
tell everyone that the black
doesn't drip from the corners
of our mouths.
in shapes of old candle breaths.

12/25/2006

Posted on 02/25/2007
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