I would take walks
In places in my bedroom
I've never seen before
Light a candle
For the mosquitos
And the Zen master
I would pack my clothes
In even sizes and packages
In well segregated shelves
Just after I had dusted them off
I would take the leaf
I had pressed years ago
In my astronomy handbook
And blow it outside
Away from the gift it never was
I would write this with black ink
Or white ink
But something tells me
It wouldn't matter anyway
I miss you and I like it
1 comment:
It matter... In one way or another, it matters every time. Every action we take, every decision, every path we decide to walk on... They all mean something. And the leaf you blew out the window... was caught by someone...
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