Saturday, August 15, 2009
Begging glass, selling little bottles
of sunlight — this old village
would not be the same without him.
The poplar is straight; twisted grows
the neighbor’s olive;
outside, the madman howls and howls.
Or is it the wind? The door slams;
I burn my hands,
then put the bottle back again.
Recently Linked: My thanks to Brian Salchert for linking to “Sunrise,” a recent entry in Penny Thoughts and Photographs. Also, a friendly welcome to Ashok Lav, who has just signed on as a follower of Recently Banned Literature.
“The Madman” added to Poems, Slightly Used.
In the Forum: an underground brick igloo.