Tuesday, December 02, 2014

the truffula trees

blink I’m in the Rubik’s cube
of mirrors, with the trees inside
blink, theres ink among the colors
running day into night
blink to dress the inside up
for baby’s winter world
blink at time thats never still
mirrors moving as they will
blink, they blur, so many, so few
seasons of minds, a single tear
blink, they merge, eye close heart fold
they become me, my mirrors too close
blink, they weave, the truffula trees
life is no dream, the shades are real

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