1.9.15

It's been a long time since I've done a Weekend Words, mostly because I haven't written anything worth a damn lately. However, it's been fantastically foggy lately, and I think I have just the thing. (I hope I haven't share this before. I can't remember)

10/24/13

It happened again this year,

the mist, as clinging as rumors.

Week after week, and people complained,

but I liked to watch it swallow their voices,

each one before the next appeared.

Yesterday I went out with empty sacks

and baskets,

to count fallen apples.

Their skins specked and flawed, were

waxy in the hand

and rotten in the flesh.

Soft and red and brown, they passed quickly

and ran together in the soil,

so different from the hard knuckles of quince.

The sky opened up in the afternoon,

and across the lake you could see

the people stepping out of doors,

over the litter of papery lace.

It was bright, and the mustard-gilled caps

were yellow like the sun.

Today started over,

touching each with the sense of same.

Yowls and cries were smothered,

and replaced,

with the tin cup tattoo of water bleeding out.

(It happened again this morning.

It changed the world)