Syrian Sand
(for Androla)

in pipe smoke gurgle
you bang
visions of
America's scream
in the early hours,
Wallace Stevens
kicking clods in
your mind-
your talent bold
as the forearms
of race drivers
made to hold
tons
of time.
by the frigid
bend of
winter lakes
you croon
psalms of
wonder & know
rabbits in backyards
& bridges
that lead to
somewhere,
children w/sleep
upon their faces.
you bang chains
of social
handcuffs on
the rim of
NOW.

sprinkle Syrian sand
into our
minds
& tell us
of things we'll
never know
but might someday
understand.


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