forever a field will hold it
white whipped, tossed about
a sail, billowed with words
a language softly drawn
veils of blown out phrases
where i kept them
the small corner
near the feather weeds
catstails and dandelions
overhead clouds scurry
it isn't as important now,
why we need grey
or why blue is harder
that's imagination,
why we should never let go
a bow on your kite
whenever needed




6 old applause
