Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Of Things That Fade And Remain

She was a dahlia at noon
as red as a love poem
facing the sun
he was a midnight stone 
stuck in silence where her shadow grew


Dreams are funny things.

Monday: I am at once sunk neck-deep in a rain puddle, driving, unaware of my destination, late for work, and alone in what was once a busy bar, so I walked away. 

About that summer flower and sad rock above, what can I do about those two?