Saturday, December 1, 2007

Poem #1 (draft E)

You mentioned your garden in the mountains,
And I followed.
The sun was breaking on the rocky path
When I arrived.
The snow all mixed together with the green,
And I could tell myself:
My heart is only racing from the climb, from the spring.

I paced, to calm myself before I knocked.

The man who opened the door was kind;
He is your son.
"Are you looking for my mother?
She is in the garden."

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