Friday, June 29, 1979


I need hard copy of this poem  DRAFT

I awoke with this sentence:
there's a storm gathering in the direction of her eyes.

She stands waiting
for him by the green pond. 
Conversation drifts by with the water, 
floats with the hours. His lichen eyes, 
impenetrable as the surface,
leave her stranded 
by all the ponds of the world
As he turns to leave, her image ripples,
her eyes gather in the storm.
Tonight there's a promise of rain in the air. 

June 29, 1979
Michael Dow workshop

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