is a lugee hocked over the edge of the upstairs porch.
falling 30 feet to the cold winter ground seemed like a lifetime,
a slow-motion replay of all the things I had ever been.
the coming of spring brings a shimmering glint from the sun
watching as it falls knocked around by the current of the early March winds.
So loud in fact did the winds speak, that its splatter against the bulkhead
wasn't heard and the visuals camouflaged
against the sky blue painted doors below.
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would you mind posting something that makes sense to people who have no comprehension of poetry? thanks,
ReplyDeletelove, sully