268/365 - 273/365

02.05.11
A bag of lemons
rests on the kitchen counter—
a day not wasted.
•
02.06.11
White feathers litter
sides of pavement—suddenly
a lifting of wings.
•
02.07.11
Broken willow strands
cross walkways in cursive script—
illegible words.
•
02.08.11
Too tired to think.
Fan hums, mumbles to itself.
The night settles down.
•
02.09.11
The mirror reflects
back an empty wall, falling
lights, angled and arched.
•
02.10.11
I should be looking
for new words and fresh phrases,
yet I close the book.