Friday, January 12, 2007


I'm sitting at the kitchen table looking out at the bare trees and feeling your feeling of desert. Dry and dusty and abandoned and forgotten and lost. But the reason I'm not afraid of walking into your desert with you is that I know that when entered, the desert is a very beautiful place. There are these little tiny yellow flowers and blooms and blossoms everywhere.
I've seen this in you. I know where your beauty lies. I know where your blossoms are. I wish that I could show them to you - lift them to your nose so that you could be revived by your own sweet aroma that wafts upward like incense. I’d show you the buds that are about to break open and explode with color and fragrance.

Related: come to the water