Friday, July 21, 2017

See you soon


Little boy with thin, reddish-blond hair and fragile web of tiny-warm words, tasting a ripe blueberry, watching the sunflower-bees, here-and-not-here, angel and dream, who lives up the street and leaves with grimace and cry when his angry-sad mother yells — see you again soon, perhaps in another realm, where willows grow and water flows, and tigers swallow tales and monarchs rain in the garden, dear.



7 comments:

Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

Yeah, well I bet when his MOTHer makes popcorn the butter flies.

William Michaelian said...

Ha! There may be a kernel of truth in what you say.

Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

Well, I feel compelled to apologize. I think I just beat my personal best in terrible puns. These are even worse than my tree puns on the Scarriet poetry blog last month.
Sorry!

😂

Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

Didn't mean to bug you.

Oops.

William Michaelian said...

Go ahead, get it out of your system.

Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

Don't worry . . . I'll just flutter by.

William Michaelian said...

That’s Gary, alright. Flit as a fiddle.