overflow
Monday, November 30, 2009
stay with it.
Poetry is just images
in some ways it
is
empty.
But the window--
the white lights' reflection
strung against the mountain line
cut across the sky--
exists, and speaks so eloquently
exactly what I've been wanting to tell you
all along.
1 comment:
Bklyn_Dodger
December 1, 2009 at 8:19 AM
Love.
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Love.
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