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Without Words
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Small Branches Poetry

Without Words
Three years old now and still
"no" and "mama" come rare.
But he can see the moon-
little fingers stab the dark skies
each night towards her everchanging face.
He turns my face to her cool glow
and together our hearts pulse-
communing in her beauty.

from  Poet's Canvas, "More Moon Poems" Moon Contest,  January 2001