Thursday, September 27, 2007

we're so unsure about it

listening: andrew bird & the mysterious production of eggs
dreaming: stupidly significant dreams about horses


stranger, there is a september tree in the public gardens that is blushing into autumn. its leaves slowly turn to the colour of rose petals...
i followed the harvest moon all around tonight; along igneous sidewalks, over angry seas. (you are the feeling of motion & the fact of standing still). the smell of burning leaves is all caught up with the night sky. from the hillside, satellite antennas look like distant castles & spotlights pour down the sides of office towers. this city never sleeps.
wait for me on street corners and when we meet, let's go right home. we'll drink tea and sit against the radiator, watching unsettling films with our tired, mid-week eyes.
these are days of small destruction; the chapel has gone missing from the cemetery on my way downtown. the footprint concrete floor has been laid bare, then piled high with withered blossoms and the torn trunks of cut down hydrangeas. i gathered the flowers & placed them on sweet, anonymous gravestones.
the wind keeps blowing; the world is stripped of colour.

2 comments:

adekeijzer said...

my sweet pie,
how lovely to come to your little e-corner and get filled up with poetic words and memories of you. i apologize for the lack of communication since my departure, life sort of took off right away and you deserve more than a hurried letter. i am waiting for the eprfect time to send some news through the skies. thank you for your note, a beauty indeed. i am in the process of moving my blog to a new home, indeed to a rainy day parade home, more news as it matures. love you lots, i think about you a lot and my wonderful time in the hali of the fax. huggables to neta and the sea.
love, ea

adekeijzer said...

sweet pea, mr bird is just measuring my cups and i am thinking of you. i miss our great big laughs together... love you