like a hand coming out of the sunlight,
like the universe was suppose to fill up.
He said, "There is more importance
leaving the white carnations of our world."
There was a parade turning down our street.
There were trucks and very shiny automobiles.
There were people throwing candy.
For a moment I felt that I might be coming home
to my dear wife.
And I hoped for a long time.
The summer was almost over in the tomatoes.
There was only one window in which the swallows could leave.
We walked to the field where no horse was.
I could not sing.
I could not say anything.
2 comments:
Brother, three months between posts? That's just not gonna work out here in the e-world ... give us your sketchpads, your notes, your pages filled with imperfect lines scrambling to form a thought ... Give, give, give. Stop being so selfish with your stuff. P.S. Been writing to Coco via Facebook ... now we await your arrival.
I'm not you. My sketchbooks are not your public harlots.
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