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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact

"The Market" (by Joe DiMino)

There is time for
Most everything—
And our right to share;
Choose the wise market—
Look for the fresh
And unblemished—
Not overly ripened;
Indulge in desserts
Of dreaming—

But to say I dream mostly
Of creams and cakes
Would be a Pastry-lie.

I also dream of mounting the air—

To glide as a great winged bird,

Sing with the wind
Letting out my eagle cry,
So that every creature
Yet to dream will envy—
Lift believing
Toward the sky,
Want to sing their own
Eagle cry—

Kiss the weight of earth

But again on the ground
Within my market place
I must face the isles,
Listening keenly
To market sound—
Make a stand of where I’ve been,
Making certain to stock
A bin if I can
Of such illusive item
As that of my dreamed
Specialty blend:

A healthy green of trying,
A lofty mix of flying—
Keep within soul’s reach
Song of air
And great-bird screech—

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