Thursday, March 31, 2011


"Western Sierra", oil, by Karen Winters
She was only thirteen,
but she could throw her thoughts
as far as the soundless stars,
and she could sit
among mountains
like the mountains
had made her.
Any whole day
was like heaven for her,
and holding
a single sentence in her mind
was as good
as getting a good grade at school.  
Summer spoke words
only she could comprehend,
and flowers
almost fell into vases
in her small room
that roved with her
among the stars.

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