Friday, September 25, 2009

We have been thought to be basic,
I have been taught to say

what do I know except mornings
yes I see it your way.


Bowing to the absences,
I want your raindrops

on my forehead

and your trees

down my arms too

for these berries, these intimations

another October, my skills

at rolling up a sleeping pad,

the space on my arm, are for you.