Monday, July 27, 2009

the fir trees glare down at me.

the fir trees glare down at me
from afar, from where I sit on the porch,
leafing through old letters you sent
to me.   my tears blot the page.
I sit on my feet,
humming a melody.  I can’t think
when the wind is moaning like
moaning like a river frothing
at the mouth.  moaning like
some giant dog.

you came up the mud bank,
your hair glistening,
as if you had just gone for a swim.
I know you were at home,
taking a shower,
getting ready for the day.
you smile at me, and words fall prettily
from your purple mouth.
I catch a scent of your perfume
in the palm of my hand.

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