3/8/12

3/8/12

silence
hanging strata of blue smoke
clustering flowers
rays of penetrating light
impossible branch hands
dingy red orchard chairs
old, dead faces slipped
little stale glances
They smoked and talked,
that feeling of smoking and talking.

    over the old farm twinkling
                clasp of hands
        paint was scratched

        wind blowing
    bright cheeks
glowing japonica flower.
          strange, longing murmur

fair, slight, broken rose face,

convulsive jaw   lonely without teeth