Monday, September 13, 2004

her hands lie in her
lap
fingers making a smooth line with her arm,
one long bare curve
quietly defenceless, growing into
repose- but only for a while,
only until we get there
only while
one war is battled by
trees that
blur
and the
road
that
smudges itself
into

greywhitegrey
poem for huma

Mina at 8:22 PM

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