Catch
Trying
to win you.
I
saw a child’s hand,
Opening
and closing in a slanting beam of sun,
Cutting
across its play-pen world.
She
tried to capture the hope of light,
In
a small and fat fist.
Feeling
the warmth of yellow on flesh,
Fingers
folding tight,
She
snatches her hand to her face,
But
she sits in the shade,
And
the light is gone.
Sept/Oct
2011
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