Wednesday, April 29, 2009


Words denote events
(or memory) and light is free
to fall from the sun,
glance against window panes,
lovers lounging in café’s
where the Niagara River begins.
Where Niagara falls,
light drools rainbows
which work the American side
without a green card.

I cherish words; play with them
long after their last echoes
have died in alleys;
long after they’ve set sail
on rail lines, in Pullman coaches,
straddled Indian motorcycles,
driven past deserted
drive-in theatres.

I cherish time
and fashion it into
lace necklaces, short stories,
madrigals of conversations,
two drinks by water, a walk
through arboreal forest,
life behind the lens,
sunrise for the mind.

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