Disparate pieces are to be assembled. I collect shells on the shore and use them to construct the sequence of events.
Your search for gold continues outside. You give yourself to hope and move with grace, a stray falcon, eager to look under the next plastic package.
Mine is less tangible and fleeting, I know the odors, the feelings and stills but cannot artfully assemble them.
The police officer stops us, and I'm in a fright. I slouch down and am a centipede, apologizing incessantly for blowing daffodils. I abandon myself in the worst way and I hurt. The law abandons us next. We drive away and you comfort me, keep your chin up, it's like you've already known me for a thousand years.
We continue driving into dead night, black, all of the talking trees and strange plants black, paralyzed, and time suspended for us. I look at you and see who you are and know life flows and I dip my hand in and run it over a hot forehead in early autumn.
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