Sunday, September 18, 2005


the trees stand like an black inkwash against a bruised sky
the crickets are beginning the nightsong;
reet reet reet reet.
standing outside, in the darkening
as the blue smoke curls and twists from my cigarette
across the blue grass and into the feet of the trees
bats flicker in blue spirals.
a light clicks on and footsteps across the crackling linoleum announce
her presence
in the stillness
the blue hour
joining me in silence
watching everything
watching nothing.


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