backseat
it's all sky from down here.
straight blue, occasionally crested by:
treeptops
powerlines
high circling birds
my neck aches with the wobbling suspension.
the highway is unknown to me.
a long shaded road, which looks plesant, but leads nowhere.
because you never do anything but look.
wonder sometimes what it would be like
to go down it.
wonder sometimes how the light feels
falling in sunstripes.
untitled
It is a perfect spring evening.
The stream is quiet behind,
field mice are playing in pairs,
wildflowers choke out their competition.
And you are there,
And I am there,
And I've this confounding sense of wholeness,
And I don't know what to do with myself.
I am looking through a hagstone you gave to me.
It's supposed to warp reality.
It's supposed to let me see clearly.
But nothing seems different.
It is a perfect spring evening.