Thursday, May 12, 2011

It Will Be Warm (Till November)

Footprints dissolve in the mud
feet: fleet, sudden muddy armada
six-seven songs thicken my head
warm prayers like stars, pleated breezes

Lost: can we care about mapped lines--
those echoes happening like strewn veins 
open the bruised year, count what is sent
unpin hope--find it escape, flying like a signal


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Did not know you were writing here again. I look forward to reading your thoughts. Thanks. R.C.

the weekend's odds and ends

In all, a quiet and gentle end to the weekend.  A neighborhood potluck we didn't go to, but I did go to the opening of RR's new well...