You can shoot
The breeze
Until its shot
And wait until
The world forgot
To wend the wind
A way
You can talk to a tree
But then again
You might just love
Remembering when
Its spirit became
A shade
You can paint
The wall
The color of brick
But each joint
Of the course
Remains as thick
As when you first
Imagined it
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
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