Saturday, September 10, 2011

Tomato

She is sick
She holds the tomato
that I have given her
from the garden.
She brings it to her nose
and smells it.
She rubs the brown
flecks of dust dirt
off until it shines
and hands it back to me

From Beautiful Locks

For seven miles we hoofed it Chasing after a couple of good ideas The waters stopped searching For the ocean and puddled I poured myself a...