Carbon Palms-Amy Hinrichs
Carbon Palms
By Amy Hinrichs
I am that long carbon slither in your palm.
I come with bridges,
on both sides.
When your footprints gather,
my body pays attention to your stance.
I have no wire, so try not to elevate.
Linens in the morning,
Like stale ears existing in the abusive winter.
You walked across what it means to halt.
Immature skipping and long glides,
for your palm.
Stuck to my fence,
Where you dangle your shadow.
Copyright C. 2008 Amy Hinrichs