It’s another nice day
That may be crushed under my heavy musing.
You are an allegory for every impossible story
Because I can’t stop the wind.
But I could almost imagine a still tree
A struggling seed
I would never tell you.
Besides
Sometimes I imagine that you already know
See it in my averted eyes
Make cellophane of my best kept secret.
Can poetry be so vague?
No one else has given it so much thought
And I am a fool for doing so.
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