Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Woodlice

The woodlice leave traces
of their work
around the floor of this
rocking chair.
In this old house,
raw emotions
seem so fragile,
only to be transformed
into the sound of this rocking chair,
measuring the shifting of wood,
burrowed in silence,

older than
any memory
that I will have,
like the dust
that remains.

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