|
Days
Sept 4, 2013 15:13:14 GMT -5
Post by Don Schaeffer on Sept 4, 2013 15:13:14 GMT -5
When the sun rises I open my eyes with a pop. The bed is warm with the history of night. The sun blasts through the trees as it always has. I'm high among the lower branches of the canopy, can see the squirrels and the birds at their lives, intimate but ignorant not knowing their languages. It is not morning until I hear your voice.
|
|