Abstract
Words drift in, whose I can't say. It's late. All yesterday the sun poured itself out over the yards and houses but it's cloudy now, a small rain dampens the street. Those words seem to fly around inside me, blue wings, blue tails, whizzing and flapping. Who is it trying to tell me about her grief? A darkness only the old can swallow begins. I taste the bitterness she tastes. Mine. April. Fuzzy green breasts everywhere. I sit under them on the steps in the stunned air, the lamps open their light and the stars grow visible and silence like a hand thrust over my mouth suddenly covers things human.
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