Thursday, June 23, 2011

Always an Orphan

We flipped through the grocery circular while thinking about bullets. Empty clothesline a few hours late. I am always spending money in ways that I shouldn't. For days now, no birds have come to the feeder.

You are not not the tools with which you write. Spring apples are hard as marble. He looked down at my wife's bra strap then at me. Later, salad, cheap wine and the last of the rhubarb baked in a pie.

There is always something else, the handling of which can be said to approximate God. We designed a tree house and never built it. Another family grew their own crystals. Let's drive to Vermont and talk about it, okay?

Yet I like holding hands, there's a sweetness to it, a simplicity. In my dream I was looking forward to a certain parade but positioned myself in a way that made viewing it difficult. There is always an orphan and, yes, a Meersman. We could strip the wallpaper, paint everything eggshell and then see about some hippie style stencils.

My love is a dog with lots of territory to guard. There is nothing like waking early in winter dark and reading the psalms by candle light. He left birthday cards up that were many years old. Forgiveness abounds.

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