Thursday, July 17, 2014

"I don't think it will ever be easy to make an album"

Bees cling to clover, lilting heavy side to side.
He lies sick on a navy blue L.L.Bean quilt in the grass.
Two groundhogs run for cover.

Feel better, darling, and I'm off. I am here to get away
from war, bombed-out planes, oil barons. I step down the trail, the trees are so much bigger since last time I was here, the flowers too, big bushes of green growing so tall they swallow the edges of wooden houses filled with birds. I am thinking in poetry again, if only for these muffled steps through mud, and clumps of grass, if only in my own head.

I run. Miles move slower than normal, my feet fall heavy, it's okay, the better to see the creekbed, floating leaves, purple puffs and sparrows dotting the green hill. I expect I'll walk the bigger hills but here I am hopping up them, watch that rock, there, and that one too keep your eyes to the ground but occasionally, if you're up for it, sneak a peek at the top. It's not that far away, after all, I run with a dragonfly for a while, I say with but I'm no match for its speed, we both know it, this is not a competition

*Tallest Man on Earth

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