Friday, November 25, 2005

No need for paint when one has words...

Small Things

In traffic at sunrise a cottage garden of clouds –
luminous, drifting, rose lilac butter-yellow peach.
Suffused with this pastel wash, we all turn to flowers.

Recursion of mountains like stage scrims
one laid behind the other, ghosting from
violet to grayed lavender to pale warm mist.
At my feet, a blood-red agarita.

Twilight. Moist air makes candy jewels of brake lights
as Venus rises in the darkening eastern sky trailing
the sweet nonpareil of stars.

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