Monday, November 22, 2010

A season of waiting

So few rainbow leaves here,
Ours are mostly brown, dry.
Pink stretched clouds overhead,
Washed air, washed sidewalks,
Sharp gritty steps behind me.

A season of waiting, lying low
Begins again: repeat, repeat, repeat.
Stay behind or leave behind,
Your choice.  Pick what’s left over.

On my nightstand, a blue-capped plastic bottle
The cross worn off, holy water and superstition.
Blessing for your journey, for my journey
To dream under warm covers in a cold room.

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