"The Collection" - (Index by Year)

 

 

Fingers

 

 

You point your fingers at me.

 

And laugh.

 

I laugh, too.

 

As I end you on the pavement.

 

But I will not.

 

That fantasy will stay my secret.

 

I can hide.

 

Climb way up high.

 

In a tree.

 

Way up high.

 

Where the leaves don’t grow.

 

Way up high

 

Where the branches look like fingers.

  

                                                   - October 1998 -