Thursday, July 21, 2011

28 March 2001

28 March 2001

Oh, here again.
Didn't these same airs milk snowflakes from a turbulent sky, over the lights of Columbus?

As we sought our way down through the chaos of intellect and emotions, mixed like cold-fronts and warm-fronts, the snow settled on the ground below;
So thick and luxuriant that your boot prints could be lost in mine like a child's hand in her father's.

But here again, is without you, and the white blanket of engine noise wraps only my tired spirit and the love that wants to be here on this paper, where you might one day see it.

No comments: