I watched an apparently vacationing couple ride horses around
Through the red rocks and sagebrush, until they disappeared.
I saw a silent woman walking her large, black dog along the creek,
And I listened to the chatter of Themselves below the bridge.
The sixteenth and final track on the soundtrack album
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind dwindled and stopped.
"Dammit!" said Vespasian, "I think I'm becoming a god."
A suicidal procrastinator could survive a surprisingly long time.
. . .
Five the next morning, the neighbor's cat patrolled the holiday-lit garden gate,
And my daughter, who had arrived at that hour in the snow in the north
Six years earlier to the minute, wandered in to fetch birthday greetings,
Climb under the covers, and tell me she couldn't sleep. What can I do
To reconcile the worlds without breaking the truce between them?
No comments:
Post a Comment