'I want the things that exist, not the time that measures them.'
~ alberto caeiro
a poem that wasn't meant to be
watching the sun set
drinking wine
the three of us talking and not talking
the air is soft in the last light of day
the stones of this patio
these rows of vines the greening hills
of the earth itself radiate warmth
even as the air turns chilly
the conversation is good our friendship is good
whatever thoughts i have will not become a poem
i am in the moment
replete sated content
no need to quantify with lines and stanzas
but lines and stanzas come regardless
Poetry by one trick pony
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Written on 2018-04-15 at 20:55
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Lawrence Beck |
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shells |
