creative ramblings & reverie

Friday, May 10, 2013


Clay faces and windowsill geraniums,
declensions of latin nouns
     escaping the open door.
Lilacs swarming up the adobe walls
left this purple underline
     among the scrawlings of my mind.
Out deciphering the past, I find
     unmarked words and bridges
thrown out carelessly at every crossing,
with inscriptions
     in water birch and other foreign tongues—
they muddy the old pond
     beyond the smoking-shack.
And from paperback, from The Odyssey,
scribbles on the sun there
     flattened out, like beaten gold.
Box Elder bugs,
     tiny amulets of orange and black,
charm back the wistful memory
of lilics and latin grown wild—
     feeding on the clay, the Homer.

(Spring 1977)

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