Thursday, September 04, 2003

so swivelling mood in marshland, and precocious sea marsh with expectation. where you place your foot, a question begins. this isn't the strong land of debate, but the frailty of startled. and the stars themselves are silver things formed in drops of rain or dew, like forgetable trances. we offer faith in the homestead that doesn't quite float away. raging about the news that swamp gas from space has landed, ow! and the evening hesitation, when the sun drew a line and fell. we aren't so lonely here, but forgetting the trump that leads us thru.

Comments: Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?