Late at night,
I let the horns waft through the cold air,
and the trees I envied,
and I rested my bones on this wraparound porch,
It was at the end of a dirt road,
and I thought I would find the four of them there,
and that it would be Sunny,
and that bears would,
could talk, and that in ink jet printing,
I saw the Berlin Wall come down,
and I was told about Pearl Harbor on a chalkboard,
and a Vis-a-Vis,
and only if I was willing to write any of this down,
And the rain that poured outside,
on Fridays,
before I went home to that place,
on my porch,
that rain let on that there would be heat lightning,
and things down here that looked a lot like the Northern Lights,
And I was so happy,
for all the Fridays ahead,
and all the distance we had from that,
until a sunny, cloudless Tuesday,
until that
No comments:
Post a Comment