The way home
“Are you alone?”
“Wait, I’ll close the door.”
Early I rise to
Catch the bus to
Catch the plane,
Another plane and
Another. Then
The bus again.
Passing by is the swelling earth,
Earth exuding winter.
April is the cruellest month;
Here it is May. Snow lays
In patches. No lilacs.
No crocuses yet, but long yellow straws
Flow like hair, unkempt and dirty.
This water cleanses nothing.
A child, I borrowed scissors, cut
Empty faces in the mounds of grass.
Then soon tired. I left.
Hushed poptunes follow
Our tracing of the fjords.
Daylight illumines the evening.
All is brutally clear as time ceases.
julien Said:
on November 21, 2007 at 3:45 pm
Il est tres joli, celui ci. La deuxieme strophe se lit comme de la musique.
Au plaisir de te lire,
Julien.
yuzublizzard Said:
on November 23, 2007 at 6:33 pm
Merci Julien. C’était un très long voyage; pourtant j’aurais préféré ne pas arriver à destination.
Andrew Said:
on December 10, 2007 at 7:22 am
wonderful poem! thank you for visiting me. I’ve added you to my list and plan to be back often.
yuzublizzard Said:
on December 10, 2007 at 11:14 am
Thank you! Hope December will prove more fruitful to my writing than the previous month.