Wednesday, 7. January 2004
Forgetting
Everything was vivid
for a longish moment.
The clock tower braised
by evening flame. Her
eyes, gleaming like an ocelot's,
drinking at dusk, at the far
shore of the table,
which stood between you.
Then the intervening days
began to char that canvas,
starting at its ends.
You wake up every morning and find some ash falling from your eyelids.
2004:01:06 20:00 Atlanta
My Poems
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