“Sometimes I spend half the night
answering the emptiness, hoping it is you. Memory is just
another form of imagination. Now the glasses are empty.
A future flies into the rafters. Daylight leaks into my dream.
Eventually I may have to write a love poem to myself”
answering the emptiness, hoping it is you. Memory is just
another form of imagination. Now the glasses are empty.
A future flies into the rafters. Daylight leaks into my dream.
Eventually I may have to write a love poem to myself”
| Richard Jackson, from “Having a Drink with the Gods,” Heartwall |
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