Monday, January 25, 2010

White Distance


white distance


there you break
in that white

(di(s)tance)

a dust
a stance

of being alone

already
old

old skin, dust is
old skin my daughter

tells me wiping the mirror

will she remember this
lace of conversation

her bones so fragile

she is ninety
i am long

dead

how he brushes against the bark
all those years of gathering

what pushed back

dream researchers explain how
we learn to change by

repetition & then floating like dust

in all the possibilities of light
how so white her skin breaks my heart;

a white madness


Richard Lance Williams

Posted over on More Poetry

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