sticks and stones

I’ve been told
he comes out in the rain
to haunt passerby’s
dreams and days;

So what if
his legs are brush’d with fur
and his eyes are round bulbs?
he must brave

Water that
clogs his hiding chamber
floods his will to survive
flee or die;

His life is
silken kaleidoscope,
mummify his next meal,
save or seize

And run when
that large shiny creature
steps firm deafening crunch
blind with fear,

He sees it
outliving his children
Freed by hundreds with wind,
sticks and stones.

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3 thoughts on “sticks and stones

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