Saturday, July 13, 2013

Study Rain and Strangers

Rain. And strangers. Also, marks in the dust where lessons were scratched. It is always question of welcome.

A question of letting go? One pulls the sleeping bag tighter, compassing both bodies, and still can't sleep. Warblers occupy a auditory space similar to owls. He doesn't reply, which hurts.

Yet some correspondence is designed to foster anguish. Wool socks in July? We circumnavigate the lake, our hands grazing, and the conversation returns often to Matthew. How do we keep the chickens safe from bears?

Who cares? Spare envelopes litter the dining room table. Denim meant something in those days, but now I can't say. Writing is rewriting, amongst other things.

Wild blackberries with cream for breakfast. Mice breed beneath old boards I never remember to move. Question want and satisfaction. Take notes, study.

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