Saturday, January 25, 2014

Catch

Catch

I watched the pine cone catch
like a torch

and thought of nothing but
the smell of it, or
the smell of the dead grass or
the smell of the night new moon or
the deep orange light of
summer evening cracks and

leaks sleep

I do not miss a thing
I kick white sheets, eye
a wasps' nest in my window

don't know quite what
to do about it,

and I do not miss a thing

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