Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Monday, May 5, 2008

El barro no esta revuelto


There is a tree
I always pass on the way home.
I watch it constantly
waiting to see if and how
it changes.
The reds of autumn
remind me, almost, of
burnt pumpkin seeds --
salted, splitting them cautiously
a crack resounding
in the head, signaling sweet seed.
Also time. Also darker greens.
A life of falling, nothing ever lost.
Once I confused your argyle sweater
for the pattern of my life.
I stole it, brown, cashmere,
the crack of fallen leaves
that weren't dry in the first place.
It's the dirt that was.
That's what we really stepped on.

2 comments:

Sandy's Chile said...

i love this one

thehubcapkid said...

thanks! anything in particular you see that's kinda off?