people play frisbee
across the warm street
on the grass field
as I turn from my window
and sit on the floor
to watch my walls closely
stay the same color.
Archive for April 7, 1991
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beyond the door of sleep
lies Hypnos, drenched in sand.
it is snowing autumn leaves
and the smoke from his pipe hangs like frost,
a fog which curls to shut my eyes like a child’s.
tell me,
tell me,
waddling solfugid:
what leafy canopies
did you crawl through to get here;
the moist grey sidewalk
slithers off into the distance
and I crouch like a gargoyle
to converse quietly
with you.
water falls as an old man’s beard
which grows down flat to the sea.
a summer trickle leaves hung moss;
a drip makes music like wind bells.
a tree nearby sends leaves as boats
to drift into the setting sun.
recently was Winter, now is Spring.
what clouds covered, now is blue.
quiet bird once were, now singing birds are,
for what is dead by December is green by May.
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