Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Thursday, February 14, 2013


by David Rawson

were fat, shedding feathers, sweating oil,
flicking tongues, bodies the color of cotton,

singing out love to trees that knew bruising.
Ours was a love of footprints, the pruning of love

for millennia, until the ice age almost pruned it out
completely. Ours is a love that was meant to shiver.

We are lovers who forgot there was meat in there,
that cartilage even is a kind of love.

We scattered at the sight of eye-line ankles, the trees
that bite before they kiss.

We will always know a love taller than us.
We will always duck when it begins to snow.

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