For years I have been sure that there’s a poem in the woodshed. Today, I seem to have found another fragment:
Tag: fragments
autumn wings
Speeding bus
startles
a flock of leaves
into flight
perspective
The field is stippled with mole hills
and I am glad
I am not an ant
I could also be glad that I was in the sunny field and not in the distance beyond, where the sky is decidedly ominous. And that we’ve had a few mostly dry days and I wasn’t knee-deep in mud trying to get a decent picture. And that they were mole hills not cow pats…
There are, as has been pointed out by others, many reasons to be cheerful.
kisses
Skin against skin, we lie;
breathing each other’s breath
we slowly suffocate.
net value
In the moonlight
giant moths
gather on my bedroom wall
Actually, it’s the light of a street lamp, and therefore they only gather there until midnight and from 5:30am as the local council switch the lights off during the darkest part of the night to save energy.
And, of course, they aren’t quite moths. But they are near enough to have made me think about the poor creatures trapped in the net of the curtains and want to put the thought down here in case I can use it at some point in the future.
don't confuse the narrator 