every tree
in every street
the song sparrow's voice
a moon-faced girl
skirts the melting snow
erasing the Welcome
on your door mat,
we wipe our feet
two pints later
and already it's Monday
ants streaming
from the keyboard ...
a live feed
the bullet train
parts an ocean
sneaking Mary Lou
into the suitcase,
her colour almost gone
I keep a fire burning
at the gate
tamping his pipe
otherwise, lost
in the clouds
we settle down to talk
on the kitchen floor
a bell
echoing from the river
a bell
dried lilies
fill a glass of water
Sandra, Willie, Sandra, Eric, Eric, Willie, Sandra, Willie, Eric, Sandra, Sandra, Willie
click on photo to enlarge
First appeared in A Hundred Gourds, March 2012
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