filigree of trade winds
and the horizon awash in ocean scent
clouds white as lace circling the pepper trees
even as the universe continues to expand,
galaxies, speeding up toward infinity
the film is finished. Never finished.
This far into the river we may as well continue
memory died when their photos
weather-worn points of
billion-light-years-old light of dead stars reflected in
polluted water under the trees in the mist shadow
of boys by the daybreak
in the peony fields
cold lost marbles
in the room carnations
little blue-eyes-twilight grins
rose tornado, the dogs are quiet.
Cut
No comments:
Post a Comment