Monday, October 15, 2007
Grain
Night as hard as
The table we sit at.
Once wood the
Table grew old,
Became a table.
Night, pressed,
Becomes morning.
It could have been the wind, yes, I suppose that's right.
Night as hard as
The table we sit at.
Once wood the
Table grew old,
Became a table.
Night, pressed,
Becomes morning.
