Monday, September 16, 2013
Tonight I walked down the frontage road to Shady Beach and sat and read a friend's poems. I looked up after reading and noticed what I hadn't before — the trees on the nes were starting to turn, tips all burnish and russet. The sun was under the trees but it was still light and a frail moon was ghosting at the horizon's edge. It was so beautiful that I thought of running home to fetch my camera so I could send a picture to you, my dearest reader. But we can't live like that, you and I, recreating presents, packaging memory. So I sat and watched the sky for a while and wished you were here.
These words are not meant to be read in their entirety. Skim them the way this plane skims the cloud layer, jostling sometim...
Tomorrow is August which means more dry heat here in Santa Fe and a start to another round of 30/30, Tupelo Press' poem a day challe...