Like a virgin snow on a painted landscape.
Two rocks set side by side beneath the cloak of white.
A boat cabin down the hill, down the path to the lake.
Walmart slacks, and all the endless compromises.
Down the stream, down the hill among the kittens
along the stream with the young girls. I was almost three.
And I had been asked if I wanted to meet him. And I said yes.
The Coco in the cup and my heart beating. And the Coco.
I knew who he was. I knew he was not ordinary. I visited with him
alone. My father wanted me to navigate this world of the 60s.
To not miss a thing that his world could offer me.
And now at 65 and more I sit back in my clothes from the Church.
I have my meal from the Church. My money goes to medical care
and rent. And where did it all go. You got me? But I have a
vague memory of two stones set beneath an east coast blanket of snow
on a pleasant day.
September 