Sunday, March 25, 2012

Nada: My Own Private Idaho

Today I spent the morning writing about yesterday, 
And thought it was good I had something to say— 

The rest of the day I thought about tomorrow, 
And what I’d write about if there was no tomorrow. 


  1. But let me jot down what's happening now:
    clack of the fingered keys, my wrinkled brow,

    each breath pulled loose from the skein of time
    only to snap back tight like a perfect rhyme

    into the seemingly seamless cloth of it all,
    like the winter’s night sky when I was small,

    when I’d gaze up and puff the steam of me
    through the limbs of the paper birch tree,

    touching stars with each uncurling wisp—
    like this, like this, like this, like this, like this.


    [My apologies for the poor imitation. I just couldn't resist a duet.]

  2. Earnestly now, no need to apologize when you improve on something!

  3. I always assume there will be no tomorrow, and write for and of a world that ended the day before yesterday.

    Does that mean we're on the same page?

  4. Wonderful reflections on the way we look forward and back but find it so had to stand still.


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