cold mountain (15)

for those who live honest death is fine too

For a moment, the sky becomes the earth. Looking back up at my feet, the shattered sun shifts through a skin of lake-water. I have tried to keep to a simple track, like the arc of a diver, like the clean fracture of a branch as it enters the water. I return to the surface. The horizon reasserts itself. Bury me with a blank book and a blunt pencil, when the time comes. Don’t tell my sister how I read her diary in the fourth grade. Don’t tell Bobby I’m the one who broke the chain on the garage door. The truth is that I have always loved them, and you, far more than words convey.


One comment on “cold mountain (15)

  1. […] How much a flourish on cream stock gathers: scroll of morning glory, blush of persimmon. Wildness of horses’ manes, the horizon empty. […]

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