[river]
My house sits on the side of a hill, and in the winter, with the trees bare, you can see the river. In the spring, the leaves return and take the river away.
Category: my poetry
2/15/04
bottles of wine. the past preserved intoxicates
fog
I wish I could get lost in the very air itself. Use the fog in my own favor. Maybe I’d become the fog. How else decide how the fog begins, and where the fog ends?
i am a clock
may you never be unable to see the passage of time on my face… (i am a clock) (8/20/03)
white pebble 