Poem i
Dry Season
the sun took the red first,
then the argument,
then the address off the envelope.
what's left is the shape of a thing —
a pale rectangle on the wall
where the photograph hung
all that hot, forgetful year.
Poem i
the sun took the red first,
then the argument,
then the address off the envelope.
what's left is the shape of a thing —
a pale rectangle on the wall
where the photograph hung
all that hot, forgetful year.