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11/08/11
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Bad poetry 11/08/11
verging lightfall
that's how we referred to the painting of Sun and mountain that
was hanging in the kitchen
among the flowers and the knives. I remember from it
a yellow ball, or imagined, punctured atop
mud. Not a window or a cupboard but
verging lightfall with a purple landscape that
doesn't occur in nature. Tones clustered on a keyboard
remind me of that kitchen in between the swamp
and the sky. I have seen so much starlight in my life
up there. verging slowly, I wonder what other places
still hang landscapes. Some nights, I dream of the Sun over America
with my face warm, saved from the starlight.
