In my smallest place,
in your passing glance,
I see us in the country
warm windows fog
over slow mornings.
Like the ebb and flow of seasons we'd
lay tangled for hours;
then its cold in the air
before the leaves change
or we walk under
Fall snow as you leave.
there's a reality there
I can't even begin to touch-
though out of season,
forgotten by morning,
its beautiful, sublime
there and then.
Author notes
I wrote this today. Its snowing in october.
Comments
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come come now love such simple desires to be fufilled in time
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tara quoted my favourite lines. so jake... i am glad you are alive.
this is wonderful. your voice is your own- it's one and consistent.
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really? where are you?
"there's a reality there
I can't even begin to touch-" i can so feel this ..
Jake this is beautiful - i am so happy to read you again, it's been such a long time.... you are a beautiful writer with a wonderful voice.
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I'm in New York. Endicott to be specific, Ithaca earlier.
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