2 at a time
Warning: Not. Good. At. All!
The Lost Jockey (R. Magritte)
some memory snapped
like a reel of film. some
piecemeal memory, only just recognizable
so many high pines, so little sky.
chiaroscuro.
always like this--never at night or during the rain
all my fond memories on the same yellow day
the sun is hanging
on that same bland yellow day.
Evergreen Metaphor
That tree is dead
with neither needle
nor cone, why don't they cut it down?
Why do I have to look at it, year after year,
showing the wood and sky
behind?
Now it's winter;
now it's identical.
Under the sun askew,
the yew and the holly natter on.
The Lost Jockey (R. Magritte)
some memory snapped
like a reel of film. some
piecemeal memory, only just recognizable
so many high pines, so little sky.
chiaroscuro.
always like this--never at night or during the rain
all my fond memories on the same yellow day
the sun is hanging
on that same bland yellow day.
Evergreen Metaphor
That tree is dead
with neither needle
nor cone, why don't they cut it down?
Why do I have to look at it, year after year,
showing the wood and sky
behind?
Now it's winter;
now it's identical.
Under the sun askew,
the yew and the holly natter on.