we sat
skipping stones off the water
the sky and the birds
and the orange-brown trees
a mere backdrop
the echo
of the weeping willows
the scent of flowers
killed by time
prehistoric
nonexistent
the old fisherman
muttering
cursing
his face anguished
every wrinkle
a pathway
to hell and heaven and earth
we did not ask why
down the river he sailed
a silhouette
engulfed by the horizon
we turned
and raced each other home
for lunch
XxXx Sasha
No comments:
Post a Comment