"...And that laugh that wrinkles your nose,
It touches my foolish heart."
He woke
up every morning
with apricot juice on his hands
though sometimes it was more like
blood judging from the stickiness
and the telltale color, that pink,
and he just waited calmly for the cold
water to boil before he began his whispering
or put on his black shoes.
He was looking at an eastern sycamore planted
in an inch of dirt although from his window seat he
could hardly see the balls and the strangulated skin.
Autumn this year would come
through his metal slats,
a little constrained
but still wet streets
and daylight
and still a wren,
though out of sight, he...____?
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Topic: FOR SCARB: The Way You Look Tonight (Michael Buble) (Read 1517 times)