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Thursday, August 27, 2009
After All the Murders of the Summer
After all the murders of the summer,
both real and contemplated,
the sharp delineation of the trees,
cut by an unexpected chill whose breath
is redolent of uniforms and welcome wool,
fills us brimtop with anticipation.
It is like hearing when you thought yourself alone
the nearby step of some great giant:
Suddenly, so little time left to teach her
how to ride her bicycle.
August 27 2009
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1 comment:
Again, not feeling particularly homicidal; just thinking about the news, and about how cranky the heat makes people.
Still thinking I should exorcise 'murder' from my poetic vocabulary, though...
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