In the early morning an unseen starling speaks of things that are in the past. The faded brown shirt on the clothesline stops waving its arms a moment to listen, for it, like the starling, remembers something. Silence takes shape in the thin light of the sun. Three chairs recline for no reason at the table. This world is made of absent things and mourns a thousand tiny deaths. And the starling poses his question again--Hello? Who is there? Is someone there?
Visits
No comments:
Post a Comment