Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
at midnight, I hear
a latch fall open
in an attic closet, and then
a profound silence
dark stucco of low clouds clutch the sky
a branch falls into the street.
a snail travels up a tree-
a long happy journey.
a little water drips with delight