Sunday, September 13, 2009


The branches tremble like a leaf in the wind.

My eyes stare through the window,

to the place beyond the garden, where my cat is sunning himself in a field of

roses. I wish he would come home. I miss stroking his back, his ears, I miss talking

to him even though he cannot understand a thing I say.

I go into the living room and flip through my magazines, constantly aware of

The passing time. It passes quicker now, quicker than a rabbit with wings,

Nothing can move me, not even still breath.

My memories sift like sand.

They rot like forbidden fruit.

Fruit that I refuse to eat.

My mouth is full and ripe.

The garden moves in the wind.

I rise, exhausted, from the bank of the river

And cross to tides unknown.

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