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Twenty Stars



We walk on stork legs
through a blue mist.
Overhead are twenty stars,
one for each of our fingers.
My head is full of fireflies;
yours is full of tiny frogs.
The world is mud
and smells of pine.
The snakes—so many snakes!—
are singing.
We walk as long as we want,
then walk on.
We walk as far as we can,
then stop.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.