Tuesday, March 04, 2008


now the quiet grows in the shape of people. the touch goes unappreciated. the touched leaves with out exchanging good-bye's. here: the absence of scent. maybe flowers, maybe dirt. the city dulled my senses, but a bird lifts, becomes a dot, and i notice. a dog runs free. his ears move as if to join the bird. now the bird is gone but the dog remains. there is winter and then spring. the mourner becomes the mourned. here: i carve a picture of your back into the backs of trees.

1 comment:

Grey Suit, Black Tie said...

Carving into the backs of trees... I like it!