172 Readings

Landscape Without Figures

The clouds inhale and all the stars

disperse. When you die, your death


swims around the lake. There should be

a color to paint the sky when someone


forgets your name. There should be

a path of life reserved for the wandering.


I might have known you better, if

I wasn’t so attched to my own weather.


Remember me, I said, back when we

were alive? Those were unkempt days.

Posted 11/24/14
from my forthcoming chapbook from Dancing Girl Press, How to Live Forever.
Comments (0)