LIKE OLD MAN
IN SANTA FE
(princeton)
This morning's petals droop like cave-grass,
hanging in a desperation to cling to that fence.
It is six in the morning already, and the light
barely breaks. That charmed girl from the
little bakery just now walked by me.
-
I'll find this seat - right here - as I've done
one hundred times already : sit and watch the
light arise, dream a new morning on the horizon,
sing a settled song of self to me. This crummy
little university town has its own toast buttered.
The same forceful faces, always facing off.
No comments:
Post a Comment