Monday, September 19, 2005

Rien

Slope of an empty spoon that moonlight grazes and goes away

Bereft lily pad in a pond, clinging to a scent that wouldn't stay

Fading blackness of the night

A last unturned page

Old brown blood

Green raw bud

A cracked glass that won't hold a drink

Spilt perfumed wine

Not all, not much, not all that much
-But that is what it means to miss.

1 comment:

neha said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

360

 This feels endless - the water problem with rusty, reddish water running through the taps, the heat, the unending piece of work that I am t...