WHEN I FINALLY
When I finally leave my hometown,
I'm going to a far cabin at the top of a
hill. With a view, of some water, and
a small, ruined mill. It can be quiet
there, for as long as it wants. I'll pick
clover while looking for you.
-
Remnants and leftovers; overflows and
trickling streams. The same deer I saw
yesterday will be back tomorrow. My
dirt path leads to my driveway; my few
cars, sullenly parked, in case of another
escape. From what? From meaning, and
from intention too. The whole world's
grown sick, and that's what I'll do, if I
stay around; few will note the
absence, just as I will note the thrill.
No comments:
Post a Comment