When the small lithe branches twist carefully around warm paths of leaf-life, the sun shakes her head with a sigh. Plastered to the ground like a patch-work quilt, autumn colors hum low beneath the surface, taunting out of tune despite their studies. Delving deep into the fish-filled divide, the villager’s nets came up straining full of leather boots and tic-tac-toes, but the rain enriched the day despite the downpour. What little do we know of circuitries and web-weavers, and yet we attempt to define time and splice life. Moments tip forward like a bottle at the brink, and every stick of candy lies cloaked on the edge of the sink, expressing itself with one line or another. When all else fails, we have chinks of the moon to gather and sort. Such busy-work leads the way to brighter days. And while the listless clouds release their inner hosts, tear-drops tattle on the dancer as if there were two tomorrows, one kiss, and no more room for excuses.
January 21, 2012
Jennifer Montemayor
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