Wednesday, 7 April 2010

NaPoWriMo *7th April 2010*


A finger through the sky
and pushing stones,
an architecht
making by playing toddler.
Here is a hill,
and here is a house.
The leaves of the grasses
are minute,
help to scale the terrain.
I feel like a god, stirring
clouds with my finger like cream
through coffee.
I am Zeus,
pointing down into the jar;
waiting for Ganymede.

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