The dust rises into vapor.
It's October.
The clouds recall a thousand picnics
Where all the ways you played on me
Still ring like a melody
Sweet in the distance
The enormities of being wronged --
It's October.
The clouds recall a thousand picnics
Where all the ways you played on me
Still ring like a melody
Sweet in the distance
The enormities of being wronged --
Olives bronzed for harvest,
As large as mountains now
Whitened in the sun.
Experience, like dust in the air,
Turns physical
In this mind's eye light.
Turns physical
In this mind's eye light.
The mask of the thoroughfare
Seems almost a face,
As the dead fill every glow
Streamed in low sun,
Holding old expressions.
As the dead fill every glow
Streamed in low sun,
Holding old expressions.
The herons I saw as a child
Off the Biscayne coast
Walk here in this moment
Gorging on sun before they fly.
Off the Biscayne coast
Walk here in this moment
Gorging on sun before they fly.
These windows have so many ghosts
Behind the curtains,
Knitting the invisible together.
Behind the curtains,
Knitting the invisible together.