this place where we live

26 October 2009 § Leave a comment

Poets know the names of
trees that get beautiful in the fall.
A tap on the shoulder
dripping
is no one but the sky
saying “Hello, I love you, I’m up here and i love you”
(because really the sky comes down to the face of everything
looking up
they really touch faces, you know?
everything and the sky)

Today is a gift because the
mist is misting into little individual
bigger and bigger droplets
on the face of everything,
on the grass-fingers and those firey art-shards of fall
–little magnifying-glass dots like in those photographs–
and i don’t really know their names,
the names of things that get beautiful,
but i live here in this place

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