Chicano Poet

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

The Ice Breakers

We were moths taking turns
breaking ice from the trees.

It was not lovely,
leaf casting shadow upon leaf.

The flavor of the sunlight
wasted on what it could not penetrate.

We held our brushes at an angle.
We switched hammers from hand to hand.

It was dusk before
the last piece of ice was felled.


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