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03/07/11 - (1)
Pillows
"Why, time, are you preoccupied with separating us?" "Time, why can't we keep you at bay?" "Why won't you let us tell, toll, our own time, time?" These questions are lamentations we chant, Each inevitable Monday a.m., After spending a blessed three-night weekend together.
As a new week awakens from our sleep's naked renascence, We sense the imminent end of our innocence, The immediacy of our hearts' parting, And we weep sad-sweet tears, Gazing into each other's glistening eyes, Listening deeply, from a distance outside time, To St. Augustine, whispering, "Let your tears flow. They'll be pillows for your hearts."
03/07/11 - (1)
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