Oh what force on earth could be weaker than the feeble strength of one
I count to three and grin. You smile and let me in. We sit and watch the wall you painted purple.
Speech will spill on space. Our little cups of grace.
(Hold on to the corners of today, and we'll fold it up to save until it's needed. Stand still. Let me scrub that brackish line that you got when something rose and then receded.)
Sunday, May. 18, 2003
2:23 p.m.
2:23 p.m.