Wednesday, February 13, 2008
the moths that cry dust
i can feel the plants growing beneath my spine. they need water. but i am caught on the roof of this house, glued to the senseless beauty of the sky. my favorite color is twilight. the only ones who know i am here are the crows, and they aren't telling anybody. i wonder when i will have the patience to curl myself about this love thing, like i am a vine, growing up a telephone pole, waiting for the snow.