by

things that move me ______________________________________________________

the thought of things that move me
now pulls back
to one small hand that waves
from across a field
to children perched on iron tanks
their imagined supermen pushing trains
that drag forever on the tracks
to strings of houselights
that bruise eyes
and force out one small blob of water
from old eyes.

(1982)

barbara barquez ricafrente, monologues and other poems

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