She gave
a quick glance over some old photo
clicked by, recalling that trenchant laugh
tinkling away at what hour it had and is now become;
or those innocent hands, folded, set
like starched stone grave markers at sunset;
a flash in the heart at the glimpse of calf;
later dancing, later kisses that tasted of rum,
but now, snipped out of time and so,
and so and so.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Old Photos That Stop A Soul
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1 comment:
I would just like you to know that I stumbled upon your blog while googling a line from an ee cummings poem ("in the sleeping curves of my body"). I think you're remarkable.
Also, I just got back from living in Scotland, I recognised Portree harbour instantly. It's a magical place.
Thank you for being a little light in my world.
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