A Cargo of Green Hearts
of the azure I dreamed
of flying lessons of the silver
stars of the sky I dreamed them
and again I dreamed them.
one time I even placed a
star on my forehead
like so. so surprisingly frail a thing
for a great aviator.
if I am old now, battered by
park benches and bus tickets
it is not because I have fallen
and again fallen. even the zipping
comets will crash even the never-landing
albatross someday greets
the waves and a swallowing kiss.
don't listen to the liars. gravity is
not the enemy.
what makes me old, what crinkles
my hollow bones:
so many empty windows with
so many angels bound to
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