Monday 11 a.m.

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I too have sentimental leanings,
Inchoate sensibilities,
Vague yearnings,
And feel the pull of those
Old, stupid, useful words, like
Love; dreams; desire;
From which nothing can save us
But the things themselves:

On our kitchen table lie
The blown still-moist petals
Of Friday’s flowers.

 

 

Image: The Fallen by Flickr user Brittney Bush Bollay (license: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic CC BY-NC-ND 2.0).

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5 thoughts on “Monday 11 a.m.

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