"Waiting in the boat of your bed
To hear me reach what was so close by,
Where you led me to, having read my heart.
"Keep reading", you said, without saying why."
Small but perfectly formed!
i agree with dickand i read again an earlier post, the first lines that you leave behind when you remove the poems. and the ponge in the comments: "a rebarbative tangle of brambles"!!!!these fragments that you have shored up against your ruin -- what an evocative little poem they make ...Februarythe snow hill risesbroken bonesbramblesor, perhaps, taking a clue from roxana and ponge--Februarythe snow hill risesbroken bonesa rebarbative tangle of brambles
yes, perfectly formed :)I wish I could see through your eyes right now, James :)
it's eight a/m., the sun is up, there is a stand of three or four small birch with every twig sheathed in ice and glittering now, the snow in the yard is tracked and folded into a very complicated landscape, ice crystals shining on the flat or rounded surfaces and shadows inside the tracks a soft blue-black, the fence of red boards between the yard and the road casts a more solid, black shadow
ha! it's just after 2pm, it's raining and has been since I got up at 6.30 this morning. there is nothing to see but rain, windows of rain, the window moving with rain, the shiny black road and the wind battering the fragile return of our tiny palm trees that were decimated by last year's snow. the sad thing is they're talking about preparing for water shortages in England this summer, I may have move down south...
@James OwenA beautiful description!
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