Monday, August 09, 2010

Can't tell the forest for its age



SONNET

This is what I will look like when I’m old.
The forest.
At that age, you become a kind of geography.
Imagine a cloud.

I am on a mountain
and reach out
My hands go right through
When I’m old, I’ll be more like remembering.

Yeah, with parts that aren’t so clear.
Did you say pants?
I walk into the yard
sit on a deckchair and look up.

The sky has plenty.
What did you mean, ‘geography’?

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