More of the same at last blurring into all there is at last able to be forgotten. Sigh with me please. Maple leaves dulled by rain plastered to the back stairs. One moves slower in their fifties, one counts their blessings, one uses "one" in awkwardly formal ways. The sound a mouse corpse makes when tossed onto the compost under the watchful eyes of crows. She visits the hayloft, passes me working, squeezes my foot hello, but otherwise does not speak. Yellow school bus, yellow sunflower, yellow rain. Remember when practicing kissing was a thing? So much bittersweet. Your octopus soul is showing and "I" am the ocean. There are always more ways than one, my dear. Look at all this smoke rising off the only fire I know.
No comments:
Post a Comment