Lowly

One forgets one is alive here.
It’s the only way to fool the fates
with their compulsive winding
of string, of the sentences.
You blow kisses to the other
side of the glass. Are you
a museum? The birds
make snow angels
in the new-fallen
white crystals
with their wings,
and a warm cup
of coffee,
wrong,
forgets.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s