Words

are clover in a meadow,

are rocks, sedentary
as granite giants,

are dancers, race car drivers,

are nocturnal animals
clinging to each other upside down,
copulating like bats.

–excerpt from “Words” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago 2011). First published in Roanoke Review.

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