Sometimes, I write poems.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Not that you could see it, but a heavy snow
fell behind you. Droplets in flake form.
Who would imagine such a thing to exist?
Certainly I, in my current state, winking,
asking as if I knew the right answer
did not. Imagine… or know. Yet asked
Chord or individual note,
which do you prefer?
Non-answer, bald as the moon -- and just
louder than the white. The tilt of your head
was the purest of these I have ever heard.
c. Ciprianowords, Inc., 2010
Share to Twitter
Share to Facebook
Share to Pinterest
Post a Comment
Post Comments (Atom)