Monday, March 26, 2007


Little world, your afternoons
are losing their edge, wallowing
off in the wheat of long siestas.
How like hallucination, the way
the sun falls on my flaws.
I can’t keep up, trundling down
the moving sidewalk of lawns,
mown beyond comprehension.
The handrail sings; conundrums
come out to tango at random.

Sweet little lack of crispness –
paradise may be built in a day
but the rest takes time. Console
yourself: at least the trees
put up their parasols; at least
the orchards you wear as hair
surrender those damn apples.
World, I forgive the lack of focus.
I know the knob of sun will turn;
even here, I trust clarity
to honor our appointment.

from Pebble Lake Review


Anonymous said...

Sweet little rush of green. Was this in Pebble Lake Review, Sarah?


Dave said...

That's excellent. Thanks for reprinting it.

SarahJane said...

Yes, it was published last year in PLR.

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