12.34 p.m.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007 at 07:21PM The last of summer’s persimmon hangs tentatively on the ocean tree.
When last heard your voice echoed through my tears,
soon turned to laughter, this before the heart’s slaughter.
The geese have nosed the fruit about the once-warm grass.
The day I told you about the ocean grey, thick with current,
yet smooth as glass.
sadi ranson-polizzotti | Comments Off | 