Saturday, July 21, 2012

Cluster of Quince

A sun-drenched morning --
The roses are turning brown
After days of heat

A slow feral dog wanders
On the banks of the dry creek

Five or six sparrows
Searching the short dry grass
By the small madrone

The pieces of a letter
Torn up and then thrown away

It's no use pretending
That we can ever make up
After what was said

Scrolling the text-messages
And the story of a loss

In the old novel
She finds herself reflected
And a sense of calm

As the waxing gibbous moon
Casts its light upon the town

A careful coyote
Silently seeking some prey
Behind the garage

A box of abandoned books
Gathering mold and dry leaves

The broken windows
Of the abandoned strip-mall
And the torn up road

Curving around the cluster
Of quince that are in full bloom

The bicyclists race
Through the early morning park
Past the spectators

Hoping for at least a glimpse
Of their favorite sports hero

At the posh hotel
Thick sheets of snow and the wind
Drifting through the door

Images from the future
And images from the past

Between two trees
Planted a few years ago
The sound of angels

Dancing on the field of time
As the cherry blossoms fall

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