“Inland.”

6 May, 2010 § Leave a comment

Above the blond prairies,
the sky is all color and water.
The future moves
from one part to another.

This is a note
in a tender sequence
that I call love,
trying to include you,
but it is not love.
It is music, or time.

… It is silent
where the future is.
No longer needed there,
love is folded away in a drawer
like something newly washed.

In the window,
the color of the pears intensifies.
– – C. Twichell

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