This land of foreign joy
speaks to me in a tongue
I do not recognize
My memory is gone
over some distant hill
and vanishes
without even a hint
of where understanding
might come.
Trust
that the leather
that has formed
to protect your hands
will heal
and the toughness
that has protected
will eventually
wear away.
Even granite
is worn smooth
by rushing waters.
Friday, October 5, 2012
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