in the tall grass, the way
a small purple ball might be lost.
It would take a long, long
time to be found,
maybe never.
But the Truth Is
We all long to be found.
Even when we shout
at the other person,
Go away! There
is an equally
powerful voice,
one that we squash,
and it says,
I need you. How
we hate for that
to be true. Easier
to believe that we
don’t need anyone.
Easier to say to oneself,
in a voice loud enough
to drown out any other voice,
I would like
to get lost in the tall,
tall grass, the way
a small purple ball
might be lost.
(with a nod to Art Goodtimes, who sent me a poem of his own with the title in the middle the other day … what a great new way to play with titles!)
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