Friday, February 27, 2015


reflected with the precision of paint.   Sometimes the fleeting appears solid.  You can touch the flowering succulent, but can you touch  the intersection of reflection & flower?  Can you say the poem that is only reflected in your mind as each of us recalls the first time we saw an egg yolk?

Are we off the railing yet?

1 comment:

  1. (73)

    Y. one rung missing,
    she races through the soggy fields,
    long boots buckled,
    a sash of silver around her waist,
    two bandits unbuttoned.