Archive 08/01/09 - (1)

   

Drops

                                                                  

Call them dots mottling my notepad leaf —

Tiny, irregular splotches

Wrinkling the blue-ruled paper

I'm about to fill, with my hieroglyphic demotic —

Or call them just what they are: rain spots,

In no big haste to dry up.

What name I assign them makes little difference.

I'll write, all the same,

Incorporating the drops, into the soul of my poem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

08/01/09 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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