Monday, May 30, 2011

Maps in Sunlight

The smell
of an open bottle
of wine
invades us
in our room.
We watch
the lights dim,
if they were
flames they’d flicker
a bit but
bulbs bring
things low,
and then ride.
A fort and
hills all around
surround.
Just as the
snow melts,
hearts run wild
and new lines
crease everything;
and crease
everything again,
and fold and fold
and fold
to new wrinkles.


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