Instead of Words


On a quiet evening scented by cottonwoods
and river mud, I leave you waving
on the old front porch we still donít have.

I am so sorry, my love. Instead of words,
I should have used a hammer and a saw.

What good are these imaginary creaking boards?
Or my vow to paint the railing when the weather warms?

March 27, 2007



































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