Matchbox Altars
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Somewhere in the midst of those colors is a yellow, a swan, a stream. Three bees.
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A math problem to solve.
She'd snap like an old turtle.
Their white lips reaching out.
They engage her heart.
To see everything again for the first time.
She's not stuck on cloudy.
She does have a repoire with them.
Yellow plums, purple hydrangeas, who knows what.
She's playing with light, imperfections, her own c...
Light straight from the Vatican.
There were so many things to remember.
She saw her mind tilt.
The only spot of sun through the trees.
Stand still, stretch and fold.
Moving too fast.
There are so many hats to wear.
She can only be optimistic.
Stopping on a whim.
Too much trouble, she thought.
Trying to let go so she can hold on.
Wearing orange.
So ugly.
She'd love a place to lay her head and go to sleep.
She didn't want to throw any of them away.
It's a lovely little nest.
Her plate seems full.
Somewhere in the midst of those colors is a yellow...
All of which says, there is work to be done.
She didn't know how to say it.
A dog chasing her tail, she is.
She carried one chicken, two pounds of apricots an...
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Somewhere in the midst of those colors is a yellow, a swan, a stream. Three bees.