Friday, June 5, 2009

June ~ mark cobley



to come back
cannot be done.




along the edge of the woods

It is an unusual moon

but it doesn't rain

easy the walk here

I like having this to myself

I like the breeze

foxgloves

familiarity

it is not far past

the wooden bench of a fallen tree

last years leaves left

to disappear.




Speak again soon.



Two swans
by the river banks reeds reflect


dog rose bending
as the rain falls

the traffic in the distance.




In.




In the cushions memory I like that I see you

the window steaming up here
in the kitchen by the kettle
whistling


it is true we loved
still do



not long gone

I imagine never coming home


everywhere
the long slow days touch
short nights
on the rim
in the borders

traffic and yellow cabs




columbus circle

59th St and 8th Ave.



Because you have gone too far away now



I measure


with sweet seedless black grape
rye bread

from here



the thinning river

May

sun ripening tomato. fountains, distance from monuments

the stone houses

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