Saturday, February 14, 2009


never could make much sense of this one.
indifferent, passive and strangely luminous
fires up the glow of helios himself
lulls comfort and then once again
when i forget to drink enough water
it would be a thoughtful gesture to
tip the clay pitcher
but out streams a flurry of milkweed seeds
bobbing up and away in the dry air.

that careless blow of cold
left me standing with sweaters on my floor
warm-faced, lightheaded
northeast wind through every thread.

1 comment:

Allie said...

I really love this poem, especially the line about sweaters on the floor. I can picture it.