Friday, July 11, 2008

Hanging laundry at 11, the moon
red as a pink tomato: I put on
a damp dress while I fold.

As the old yarn goes, "It's 107
in the shade and there ain't
no shade--"

Well, today there wasn't
any shade but that's because
there wasn't any sun.

Smoke snuck in
like a gray wildcat, drove
all color outta town.

But hot enough to suck
water from the creek's
mouth, straight.

1 comment:

Shannon said...

Reading your words mixed with your images is to enter an enchanted land. I melt into your stories. The world you spin together is truly magical and made so by your love and your tender observant eye.

thank you
ferny