For Karen B. Hunter
The 69th Street Pier, to be precise, but the water crossed it's fingers and twined itself into what felt like WATERFRONT. The lifting of blues and greens like pie under the crust of the city. An explosion of apples turned blue, green and lilting and dissolving into rain. Touchable.
Tree rings gripped downward into green algae along the wall of the Pier. The brown and white, black, and grey birds paraded toward crusts of bread. And I felt comfortable talking about spiritual places and feelings.
My friend went off on her bicycle and I left immediately, feeling I'd been close to you and wanting to take you home.
No comments:
Post a Comment