Toss the moon in a puddle and it becomes a coin.
Someone has run the puddle over. It lies by the roadside, eyes wide open, ripples opening and closing like a mouth that has something to say.
Evaporating confessions.
Tomorrow it will be impossible to tell a damp spot from your shadow, your forgetting from my past.
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Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax -- Of cabbages -- and kings -- And why the sea is boiling hot -- And whether pigs have wings.
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- Minneapolis, MN
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6 comments:
Intricate...if I imagine this, I sigh...
i love ur whimsical posts :)
elaborate surreal gestures.
each little verse of yours has me misty eyed with imagination.
wonderful
-a chance visitor
Meg
Brilliant!
magnificent
Sheer poetry.
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