Monday, May 4, 2009

from the archives

I'm referring to my notebook...thoughts go in, and they rarely see the light of day after that.

I wondered all the way home

It was feather-light and soft
the way we touched, and
all the diamonds I saved
spilled through my fingers,
useless, to the ground.
We pulsed, the white-capped
beating on shore
rhythmic in a moment's movement
and I left.
Drove home through darkness
shiny wet streets, artificial glare
of promise.
I contemplated the mineshaft
where I once abandoned
my existence
and I walked
through sunlit woods
boots crunching on earth,
holding my treasure in my soul.


Solo said...

'artificial glare of promise', girl, you give me shivers. Please keep sharing with us. Your talent is unbelievable.

Anna said...

Thanks Solo.

I'm blushing :)

greg said...

I have to agree with Solo, this is just lovely