Friday, April 17, 2009

Very Like A Meadow

Yes, she is like a meadow,
Soft as fresh green grasses
Lit with dappled sun,
Cool, under leafy boughs,
Redolent of flowers,
Fragant of fresh air,
Sweet as the rushing stream
Fallen from the hills,
Quicksilver of thought
As the stream's darting trout.
She's very like a meadow,
She who was named Lea.

Saturday, April 11, 2009


Blossom torn from bough,
a blown-away umbrella.
Spring. Torrents of rain.


A Rothschild counting money,
Ones and quarters, stacks.
Office of the laundromat.


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