Not only birds. Blooms trill, too. Can't you hear them. Ah! and a meal of artichokes. A garden is an anthology of poems waiting to be seen and heard. There for the eating.
Hot day, towels on the hill. I think of David, how we sat and looked at the boys in fine shape. Downtown looks distant, arch in the fog. Even as the sun gets lost somewhere night does not cool the thought of fruit wet and sweet-- I guess I'll get the next train-- where are you, strategic error, neon sign?
Delores Park
ReplyDeleteHot day, towels on the hill.
I think of David, how we sat
and looked at the boys in fine shape.
Downtown looks distant,
arch in the fog.
Even as the sun gets lost somewhere
night does not cool the thought of fruit
wet and sweet--
I guess I'll get the next train--
where are you, strategic error,
neon sign?