angels never think that they are flying
when they really are –
but they know and wonder
when they look how far they’ve come –
they know that they’ve been trying –
they did, and have been,
because they have believed some.
Archive for September 27, 1993
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ahem.
I write poems to think things through;
I write poems to communicate to you.
why do you write poems?
I am as simple as this.
there isn’t anything that you’d really miss
unless you didn’t read them.
What Happens Now?
Posted: September 27, 1993 in PoetryTags: Car, Echo, Flowers, Heart, Love, Night, Orange, Time
when the nighttime
slips across the sky
like a teenage lover
out his window to put flowers
on his first girlfriend’s car,
I’m usually surprised,
even though it was I
who used to climb cautiously
out of my house
and bicycle through quiet orange-lit streets,
picking homeowner’s flowers along the way
to makeshift a heartfelt and beautiful bouquet –
an echo like a car going by
three streets over
in the middle of the night.
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