Walk in much
too dark shoes in December
a finger tip owl in my heart
what has become of me?
Promise to write soon…
**
I love it whenever the poets say angels visit them.
I like untruths as much as I like stars and lingonberries.
**
Remember when you were a kid and had lots of green clothes?
**
Unruly conversations in rapidly changing weather.
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Remembering being twenty four:
Didn’t we conduct (like John Cage) minutes, cigarettes, crows on the roof?
I should say so. I should say we carried silences like blank minerals.
**
“se faire une joie de”
I will make a joy of it:
coffee late morning
a few poems by a friend
unwearied the coo and choke of doves.
Light from the winter branches.
I will make a joy of it,
carrying words of others.
Planet of the Blind 