and crushed the stones into the softest sand between our toes-
but we're wondering where to sleep.
Clever words on pages turn to fragments, circles, points and lines,
and cover them like carpets; with graceful, meaningless ornamental designs.
Come quick, you light that knows no evening-- Come, alone to the alone!
I have a thousand half-loves well worth leaving
for to take your madness home.
and you dance inside my chest where no on sees you,
but sometimes I see you.
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I wish I wrote this.
I have so much in me right now, and no words to write. at all.
1 comment:
I walked in the woods this morning
and saw the clouds of buds shooting
toward heaven, crowds of green heads
raised in perfect symmetry, at measured distances,
in a communal gaze toward the welcome
of a warming sun. It has begun, I suppose,
to be the time when opening our eyes
will mean the sun will turn everything
into a blue-green monotone like it did
to mine when, after napping face up
under a tree, all I could see was
green green green.
The leanto I built was dry inside,
with nested layers of arachnid webs
lowering down from the spokes
of the lumber spine that I lay down
underneath for its shade.
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