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

Previous Entry     Next Entry     Return to Songs and Letters     About the Author

Many of the poems on this site are available in print editions.
Main Page
Authorís Note
A Listening Thing
Among the Living
No Time to Cut My Hair
One Hand Clapping
Songs and Letters
Collected Poems
Early Short Stories
Armenian Translations
Cosmopsis Print Editions
News and Reviews
Highly Recommended
Letís Eat
Favorite Books & Authors
Useless Information
E-mail & Parting Thoughts

Flippantly Answered Questions

Top of Page