Thursday, August 21, 2003

something simply escaped, let us remember. let us remember some version and tell our friends. tell them every wisp of cloud, such sacrament, and the hoarse recollection of a tree. trees are long ago and static, somehow; we keep forgetting. we stand or sit with a view of a river. the beech tree or an ornate apple has us in tow. there are many versions to tell, which is what frightens the aliens so. we're too stupid or proud to get far with our reverie. we keep referring to the water of the river, not the river itself. something in us is draining, pool. we're asking a lot of questions now.

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