Chink chink chink. I am sitting in the alley, car idling and reading a snippet of Stevens as a janitor carefully taps the glass of an old window. Complacencies of the peignoir from Saturday Morning, quoted by another, through glass I watch the man break glass. When the cars start up, I turn on the engine, the sound of flapping wings, dappled sun on bougainvillea, dead branches on cement, blue sky.
Small Stone 6
7 comments:
And you've taken me there with you through word and photo.
Beautiful. And I particularly love, love, love that last sentence.
I feel it.
And I agree with Amy, that last sentence is especially splendid.
Something about the word "bougainvillea" takes any sentence up a notch. You rock for having that on the tip of your tongue. Especially dappled in sun.
beautiful.
These are really inspired. I have been reading them as one poem appearing day by day starting at the first. It works. I am excited to see where they (or your poem) takes you.
xo
Lovely.
Thank you.
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