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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2058463
Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #2058463
A poem I wrote while sitting shotgun on our way back west.
Create in me a
solid sun that will
beam out through my
teeth when I speak.

I want fingers made
of pine needles and
eyes like acorns.

Fully succumbed to
the wilderness.

My spirit can be the
crinkle of leaves
you hear under your
feet and my
voice will remind you
of the river.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2058463