but of what? And who is doing the seeing? The retelling? For time is a retelling, a reordering, isn't it? And who were the last to gather around the table with memories of ripe juicy tomatoes and crunchy cucumbers? And why has sun been so slim in recent poems?
Rearrangements
ReplyDeleteThere comes a time when spaghetti
is the solution to the direction
behind the door
before the mast
after the fall
along the avenue
during the admission
She has the clams and linguine
as he talks on and on of the lithographs
She wishes she could follow the leader
and find another civilization
One that painted on the stones
and blasted every other surface