Thursday, February 17, 2011
All day we sat at the long table, eating and drinking,
light and shadow keeping their own quiet conversation on the windows.
At the end of the gravel road the river eats at its margins,
willow trees falling into the water carried all the way to the ocean
In the distance flocks of birds fly low
over the plowed fields, home for the season.
When darkness comes, it covers everything
and we go outside, stars above witnessing farewells,
at home the clocks ticking by our empty beds.
(a poem has never been work for me before...I always had this succession of words coming into my head, I would put them to paper and that was that...most of the time when I would stumble upon one of those attempts some time later, I would invariably feel ashamed, and I failed to grasp the point of writing it, but not anymore, I've found help and good help changes everything)