holding forth the word of life (or, brown eyes: here comes the storm)

we were in the pale green parish hall;

there was bright pink punch and stained

teeth and rain and an abundance of estrogen.

 

you were reading my poem

out loud with such viscosity

you made me choke up.

 

how do you do that? i asked.

it’s easy, your laugh tinkled like a

wind chime, your poems are full of glass.

 

now someone is singing

his eye is on the sparrow

and i’m thinking everyone probably saw it but me:

 

the way i was calmly lured in.

how could i have known?

i’ve always loved both glass and stone.

 

i go home to write the first lines

(the best love stories are always retroactive) —

brown eyes: here comes the storm.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s