Monday, December 22, 2014

Dreaming At The Mountain

In the rain drops warm
they sprinkle love
sugar melting slightly
over the nothing dreams
with the geese Monday's
log trucks house my mind
carry what are they--
toothpicks far away
from this poem why doubt
their return empty fast regular
breathing on the road our huge
monster pets not our pets
but the dark best time
sounding fast but isn't
the mill on the opposite end
of this valley graves facing
towards the west at Fair Oaks

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