Thursday, September 5, 2013



Like not quite waking up
when your lover swears
in her sleep.  Like trying
to see the Dali’d hands
of a clock without glasses. 
Misshapen sound, wet
around the edges.  Thick
guesses: brain filling in
what looms over you,
grainy and gray, with
memory or maybe
it’s hope.

Deborah Miranda

No comments:

Post a Comment