03 April, 2008

Rather than a stone wall

those thousand pebbles

placement, precision and the

illusion of comfort that mortar

and vines promise

a thousand pebbles clog the drain

and my hands are clean.

Dirt streaks my face, the walls

and a silt-loam reflection follows

me through the halls, but

my nail beds would gleam in the sun

had the rain not followed me home.

I am not strong enough for boulders.

Those pebbles would have done me in

had I not a friend to help me

Call me a counterfeit!

rub your dirt on my palms

I will still have the whites of my eyes

and water to wash today away