Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Personal Legends

I fold down the sheet, flatly formed against the quilt so that each dent of stitch stretches into a barely visible terrain.  It forms a pleasant piece of smooth, cold art.  Slowly I stroke my hand across like a wind on plastered white sand beach, lifting my flickering fingers just above the peeking blue quilt edge.  The gust I create is lighter than one that shakes water into waves, so my weak current does not make it's own throughout this small world.
After all.

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