Friday, August 7, 2015

What The

It never matters how many years
Grief sharpens up they don't return
But you return to them instead you
With your sunflowers  and funny hats
Hand around a stone so smooth.

The space too large even for the queen
of Rumania her dress its embroidery
silver wheat dripping stars golden
Blocks for sitting, leaning, sleeping
Above carved basalt woven tules
Beads everywhere pipes blankets.

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