Sunday, May 2, 2010

St. Athanasius

I have stacks of books you told me

to read. I balance plates and teacups

on their woven frames, these tiny

uneven cities.

I will never get to their words.

I eat my poached eggs, drink my

black coffee and stare at the stacks,

prop my feet up.

They have a light that sneaks out

from between the pages as I sleep.

I wonder what you’re trying

to tell me.

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