Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Foreshadowing. What do poems foreshadow?

Their end. The beginning of the next.
And always a deep, rich silence.


A meal foreshadows the next ripe season. Today, pea shoots. In the long tomorrow, peaches.

1 comment:

  1. fidgets in the wheelbarrow say nothing to me now
    but I do remember summers when the henhouse was warm and full and all the swings were strong and windbound, looked over by their beloved

    indeed the workroom had its merits as a place to hide and find the narrow fittings so wanted by the lamps, screw them all together and then shine them like a ship

    today I could not have seen tomorrow would have hastened toward yesterday
    but no matter when the chickens scratch the meadow and all the doorways have gone home

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