Friday, August 12, 2005

anew

the weight of spring rains
makes my chest hurt
my breath taste old

grey clouds press low
my shoulders curve down
hollow bones, trying

to touch the ground
like forsythia
able to grow from the soil,
young again.
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1 comment:

Sherry Pasquarello said...

this is close to one from my list i work with,i think, sometimes, reading tons of poetry and listening to years of songs everything melts together like ice cream, but it comes from my bones and the yellow bushes outside of my home.

7:12 PM

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