Bedecked
Three or four o'clock in the night, you hear patters on the roof. Almost footsteps, but in very tiny shoes. So you take a deep breath, roll over, pull the blanket up, and go back to sleep.
And then, sure enough, you go out just as the sun comes up and find that someone has dropped diamonds across every plant you have.
Harry Winston, eat your heart out.
1 comment:
gorgeous! and to think such poetry just pours from you......can't help it, just pours forth like a bubbling crevice in the earth. for those of us who live to see and feel how words are turned and laid down, cobbled, scattered, unfurled like what happens at the end of branches in the springtime, reading you is like licking butter off fresh-baked cinnamon-swirl. toasted. mind spring, indeed....
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