Then there is the countryside which prohibits any foul play. A forest comes into view and part of me forgets I exist. Asking about relatives, you might say, are you joking now, knowing they are now gone away, up to Rome, in the vicious heat of the city. I decide to wait on your doorstep until the sun passes a reasonable point, shadowing our languid afternoons, memories of Kansas and driving along without music or shade, as a place in the imagination, as a place out of place in this lovely forest, sacred with light and damp resilience, timeless as a locust.
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Then there is the countryside which prohibits any foul play. A forest comes into view and part of me forgets I exist. Asking about relatives, you might say, are you joking now, knowing they are now gone away, up to Rome, in the vicious heat of the city. I decide to wait on your doorstep until the sun passes a reasonable point, shadowing our languid afternoons, memories of Kansas and driving along without music or shade, as a place in the imagination, as a place out of place in this lovely forest, sacred with light and damp resilience, timeless as a locust.
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