In the gradual lightening of day,I wait for words to come. Outside my window, the bright flames of leaves speak the language of planetary tilt and early sunset.
Like the widespread skirts of a peasant woman the sky trails tattered bits of clouds; a lone jet streaks overhead. Behind me trail remnants a dream,
smeared with sweetness: the addict gets better, the killer pauses before the bullet breaks glass, and turns away.
The dawn clouds turn to golden and the cup of memory spills. The day begins.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
** I loved reading your morning poems. Post more & link to here!