Year of writing 170.

6/19/12


I've found a new paradise. It's called Tuesday, lying in the grass and daisies at a huge park abandoned by everyone but me, my son and daughter.  She is picking the tiny white flowers and presenting them one by one to her doll Tiana.  Each flower is a poem, she says, every poem is an I love you.  My son is asleep on my chest, I feel our breaths syncopate.  His eyelids flutter, he sighs and grins in sleep.  There are three clouds in the sky.  One is a heart, one is a train leaving it's station, one too big to comprehend.  There are moments like this that happen all the time, that have happened, the difference is now I am experiencing it with them.