each day as
i watch the two little
girls wander down the street,
their heads so close
their hair seems braided together,
their hopes conjoined
as they whisper their deepest
souls to each other,
i long for you
so come
to clean the silliness-stained
glass of my life
til i become utterly
transparent to
you;
come
gathering up the ashes
of my tears
pottering them into
the apple of your
eye;
come
turning me outside-in
inside-out
so you can write
your name
on my heart;
come,
Anam Cara,
come.
(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman
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