Permission
You don’t need me to tell you:
you can go your own way.
Stop here, go there, pause, rest, or run.
The things I’ve said, stories told:
they mean less to me than you.
As gifts, I won’t look for you wearing them,
but if I see some stranger in the street
holding them against the sun to check
the strength of the threads,
I will save my smile until I see you again.
___________________
All Wrong
Forgive me this small truth:
this old world won’t end
even at ten dollar bread.
But last Wednesday,
birds & leaves fell from the sky
on Nineteenth Street.
I could not tell
the one from the other:
black spots on a blue morning.
It was hard to be angry then.
I’m trying to remember that now.
No comments:
Post a Comment