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Poetry
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| A Still Stream | |
| By andrewbalerdi | ||||||
| 14 March 2007 | ||||||
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A still stream. To the side two people sit on the overhanging grassy bank. Above, sky, blue only blue with wisps and hints of clouds never to make rain or sleet or snow. Serene. The two sit as if in states of contemplation – masses, continents, islands, deep, so deeply emerged in opaque exclusivity and singularity - yet in deed they sit. And we suppose everything that may be occurring: in their minds, their lives, or in the mahogany coffin that slowly wriggles behind them. The stream runs on. The two watch their reflections respectively. Those looks, that coffin. The stream runs on.
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